The congenial local weather “odds maker” gave a 100% chance for rain.
A good day for oversleeping, overeating, and overthinking.
Who put trash in the bin without a trash bag? There were only two in the household. Tossing around wild accusations was a bad way to start the day.
Satellite TV and internet would be in-and-out the entire day. Annoying pop-up ads, as always, would find their way through.
It had already started. “I wish there were some places to go. This was so boring.”
That was more a rhetorical statement than anything. Pandemic realities didn’t allow for unnecessary visits.
Scotty, Johnathan, and Nick–You Tube how-to channels would assuage my mind today.
How had Johnathan managed to get a vintage ’52 construction crane running, let alone, moving under its own power?
Freed from swampy overgrowth, boom protruded from the front, through a machinery storage building, to the side of the nearest highway for extraction.
The entire process done with dogged determination and gumption. Skeptical at the first appearance of the rusted, battered, mechanical behemoth, my opinions were changed.
From North Carolina, to Quebec at Nick’s garage. Nick began the tear down of a 1968 Dodge truck engine. His videos always full of sage advice. He disassembled the big block Chrysler to the crankshaft in an hour.
This had been the most rain experienced, from one storm, since moving to Western Kentucky. A creek formed in the valley where a trickling stream formerly resided.
Properly attired in waterproof coat, rubber galoshes, and umbrella, prepared to retrieve mail from the mailbox at the end of the driveway. It was an adventure–knees dampened from wind-driven rain. Gusty winds battered the umbrella. “Not this time,” I declared defiantly.
Mail secured with little damage. Debtors would receive their just due. Junk mail deposited in the trash can, where it belonged.
Briefly, glimpsed sunshine around 2:07 PM. The cowardly sun retreated a few minutes later. The remainder of the day filled with rainfall and subdued winds.