I'll just entertain myself

Good morning youngster.

Thanks, old man.

Foliage season is just starting up here. We’re still leaving for FL on October 4th but we’ll miss seeing it by 2-3 weeks or so. Columbus Day is usually near the peak depending on how the rainfall and temperatures were in August and September. Should be gorgeous this year.

All that said, this is my favorite time of year. I used to think it was a birthday gift from Mother Nature. Yesterday, we drove around the dairy farms and rolling hills and it was picturesque. Eventually I’ll post pics on FB. So if you’re interested check it out in the next 2 weeks.

We are getting a major break from summer in about two days.. Cool mornings, very warm days. THose cool starts make it tolerable.

It’s about time you guys caught a break. I’m sure south coast of Texas looks fwd to the end of hurricane season.

Yeah, we could still get one. We were lucky in Tomball this year. No serious bad weather all season as yet.

He called himself Billy Bones. He said it was after a character in a movie. Because he felt like a marooned pirate in the jungle camps, same as the namesake.

Billy Bones was tall, rail-thin, with a carrotish beard, hung on a long face, with pale blue eyes. His eyebrows grew thick and long, giving him a bit of a wild look.

Bones was bustling. Being more than solicitous. He was teaching Arlen how to cook with discarded tin cans that were easily found throughout the ‘bo jungle. He put burning sticks under a can of water with sprinkled in coffee grounds.

“I picked a can with rust in it because we need iron,” he said.

He went around selecting cans for cups.

Arlen didn’t think rust could be a useful nutrient, but he didn’t see fit to argue. He wanted the coffee, which he hadn’t drunk any of in near a week. Arlen was no professional ’bo like Bones. He was just a young man on the way to Texas. The train he had come in on rested nearby, soon to resume its journey eastward. He planned to reclaim his boxcar at its leaving.

He watched Bones rinse the cans before putting them in the fire to kill off germs.



Bos are mindful of hygiene. Who knew?



Before he filled the can cups Bones pulled a flat bottle from his blue jeans hip pocket and poured in a shot to each. He handed Arlen his. Arlen accepted his can cup, holding it at the top rim to avoid the boiling heat further down. After Bones filled his own can cup they held their coffees a few minutes, allowing it to cool a bit.

Here in the barren stretch of the jungle, the dirt was the one place to sit. For that reason, Bones and Arlen did everything standing, even drink coffee. Arlen liked for Bones to keep talking as it relieved himself of having to think of things to say. Apparently, Bones didn’t mind at all.

Then Bones mentioned it was a good time to eat.

“Come with me and I’ll show you where to get it,” he said.

Reluctant, fearing he would miss his ride, Arlen hung back, until Bones reassured him, saying, “If you miss that one there will be another in a little while.”

Against his better judgment, Arlen followed along. He wouldn’t want to be too late to see his ailing mother.

They left the proximity of the railroad and the jungle, following a path not well-worn. It was almost a climb getting up it. At the last minute, Arlen saw what he judged to be a church or a monastery. Bones went up to a heavy door and swung the knocker. He waited. After a few minutes, a person opened the door enough of a crack to push through a sandwich. After accepting his, Bones stood aside and Arlen received his. The door immediately shut.

Arlen saw that he held a massive butterbean sandwich. By the time they made it down to the hobo jungle, the sandwiches had been consumed. As they approached the site of bones’ campfire, Arlen looked up to see his train rolling away, picking up speed. It was not about to get away from him.

His pounding feet caught up behind the last boxcar. Against the shouted warnings by Bones to let it go, Arlen wrapped his fingers around the grab iron and hoisted himself onto the bottom ladder rung.

“Don’t let go,” Billy Bones hollered, as he drifted into the background.

Arlen knew he would be slammed into railroad ties and rocks should he fall; his body would be shattered. The train rapidly went into the dusk. In a matter of minutes, Arlen was riding in the dark, with the railroad cars shaking more violently than he could have expected. He wondered if he would ride this way all night. His senses were on the highest alert for over an hour. And then the train slowed. It stopped in some dark place for a reason unknown.

He jumped down to run along the line in search of an open door. The train moved. The cars shook into motion, each car, in turn, receiving the shock of renewed tension. The movement became increasingly fast. He hoped to be able to spot a gaping hole in a boxcar before too late.

Arlen found one just in time. He pulled himself up by the bar and scrambled inside. Spent, he made his way to a deep end and lay down on his back, his emotions shouting hallelujahs to the darkness. His weary body pulled him into slumber by degrees. As he slowly surrendered, he ran a salute through his mind to all of the disposed and the hoboes he had been encountering on his adventures in America, both by hitchhiking and jumping on freights. He knew that as soon as his mother got better, he would be off again. For his itchy feet could not allow him to settle. Only his older days could slow him. All his journeys would honor the like of Billy Bones, generous to a fault while having virtually nothing for himself. For Billy was not special among the breed. He was the norm.

We are getting a first taste of cooler weather today. Yesterday I kept the A/C going all day long. Today a small fan blowing on me feels almost chilly. We're into the best part of the year. Break out the eggnog and jingle bells.

My weekly grocery bill has increased by forty to sixty dollars per shopping trip. They talk about the raise our SS checks are soon to have like it's a big boost. But if they give me ten or less dollars extra per month we are still slipping behind. Two or three hundred might ease my pain somewhat.

Your SS increase is eaten up by inflation. It could put you into a higher tax bracket. And usually, there is an increase in Medicare cost that eats up most of the gain right off the top.

That's the crux of my complaint. They tell you it's an increase but it's not.

I don't really like my park anymore. We've been walking there since before the days I took my three year old grandson along. He's in his twenties, moved to Denver about four or more years ago. It used to be a bit more in tune with nature. These days they are reconstructing the entrance to accommodate the suburbs crowding in. They barely tolerate wildlife anymore. Periodically they poison the squirrels and raccoons and one man admitted he culls the ducks and geese as it strikes his fancy. Walking around the lake at one point the new housing shows just feet away. At one point if the curtains were drawn I could see inside one house. They are making the park into a lawn with trees and a small lake. I need my walks and will continue to show up but I don't have to like it.

First cool, not cold, day of the year and my battery fails. I cleaned the connections and the alternator was recently replaced by a mechanic I trust. Time for another battery.

How old is it? Down in tropical land, they may only last as little as 3-4 years. Typical can be 5 to 6 is my experience. Is there a short or something that might’ve drained it?or is just Old age?

I ran a tire compressor a few hours before without letting it idle.

I just returned with my new battery. I'm so happy.

hee hee hee I got a new one recently so I know how you feel

That always peps up a vehicle.

My dupuytren's contracture is getting worse. It hasn't impacted the use of my hand, but it will. I see it growing every year. What with that, the Covid, the crazy geo-political world and increasing prices in wine (heh heh), I'm ready to depart the planet.

Just thought I'd put that out there. How much do you value this world as we know it? Is it worth it to strive to live your last breath? Maybe this should be its own post, but I think edgar would appreciate the topic.

In my past I had very little incentive to value life. Oddly, my desire to be alive never wavered. Even in the face of a probable dystopian near future, I want to live. No matter how miserable or hopeless it may be I want to survive as long as possible.

Oops. I dropped a egg on the floor. "Come here, Rocky." Rocky looks down. Eats the yolk only. I hate cleaning this stuff up when I have a perfectly good dog.