Sometimes it’s sad when you think about how much of a rut you are in. The renters moved into the cottage on Friday, so I no longer have a place to go to “get away”. I’m really not “getting away” from anything in particular, but it feeds my addiction for lake living.Â I think I only spent three or four nights there this summer, but I was there almost every day. I imagine I’ll be like a caged lion for a while, pacing back and forth, thinking I have nothing to do. As soon as I go downstairs I’ll see the piles of stuff I brought from the cottage and, now, need to find a place to put it.
As I look out the window I can see the “over the hill gang” playing golf. It’s a group of men over 50 that play together at nine each morning. I look at the clock and it’s only 8:55. Maybe when you get to be a geezer like me, you figure if you don’tÂ wait around for the clock to hit a certain number, you may get a head start and outrun the grim reaper. I know I said “men over 50” and that makes it sound like a middle aged group, but if I join them I’ll be, by far, the youngest person out there at almost 61.
I sold the Lund fishing boat yesterday. I bought it brand newÂ when Jean and I got married and used it a lot that first couple of years when we were at Algonquin Lake. When Jean made me move into town (correction – when I decided that I was tired of lake living and asked Jean to give up the water and move into town) we didn’t use it nearly as much. It hasn’t been in the water for three years and probably hasn’t been used more thanÂ ten times in the lastÂ ten years. It was time for it to go, but it’s like losing an old friend. The boatÂ brought lots of good memories.
The final word on the pontoon fiasco is that it now runs. Apparently the guy at the marina overestimated my mechanical abilities when he said an idiot could replace the battery cables. I took the cover off the engine and it looked like a mass of foreign objects. I couldn’t follow the red wire, couldn’t see where the black wire attached, and it looked like you had to take out way too much stuff to get to them. I consulted with ace boat mechanic, Martin, and he told me the best way to make a splice of theÂ broken wire. That I could handle and, after ten minutes, the motor was purring like a kitten.Â The spliceÂ should keep it running so I can get it over to the landingÂ when the marinaÂ picks it up.
By now most of you know that Becky is in the hospital. She called Jean in the afternoon yesterday and sounded like she wasn’t well at all. Jean took her to the walk-in-clinic and that started the ball rolling. An ambulance transported her up to the emergency room and, by nine she was in surgery. By eleven she was on her way to recovery.Â Let’s just say it’s a plumbing issue and you can get the details from Jean. It’s like looking at a fine automobile. I admire the sleek lines and long to take it out for as spin, but when it comes to lifting the hood and looking at the inner workings, I’m not mechanical enough to understand what I’m talking about. We’ll keep her in our thoughts and prayers.
Happy retirement, Paul.
Just (Happy To Be Jean’s Go-fer) Jack