But Some Things Last Longer Than Others

Turned out it wasn't the pump after all.  It was the pressure switch.  In addition to calling the well driller, I called the regular plumbing and heating guy and also left him a message.  He called me back at 8:00 AM and said he would be there between 10:00 and 11:00.  He showed up promptly at 10:00 and had the problem fixed by 10:15. It's only a temporary fix though.  The switch needs to be replaced as well as the pressure tank.  He said that he might be able to do it tomorrow or next week for sure.  Meanwhile we have running water in the house again.  Yay!

Nothing Lasts Forever

There are several alternatives for water pumps on rural wells.  The most popular is the "submersible".  It's called that because the pump is located at the end of the drop pipe that extends down the well casing and actually runs under water.  Submersible pumps are warrantied for 20 years, which seems like a long time at the beginning, but doesn't seem nearly as long when viewed from the other end. 

Ours lasted over 25 years, so we should be pleased with its performance.  It just died a few hours ago, and now we have no running water in the house.  The only problem with submersibles is that nobody can repair or replace them except a well driller because the pipe needs to be pulled with the same equipment that installed it.  This takes some doing, and they're certainly not going to do it in the middle of the night.  I left a message on their voice mail after being assured by the nice lady who made the recording that they will contact me as soon as possible.  Ah, the joys of rural living! 

masks

 Saturday night I watched a pretty good movie, Eddington, which starts out with a 2020  dispute between a sheriff and a mayor about masks and spins off from there into weird conspiracy theories and a lot of mayhem, you know how things go, pretty good movie.

Masks, remember them?  This whole pandemic thing, when I think back on it it seems like a movie, like something that never happened in real life.

At first it seemed like one of those bird or swine things, something that sounded ominous but then floated into the ether.  No ether this time.  Everything was closed, the streets were empty, busses ran their routes with no passengers.  

And then the masks.  I didn't like masks, didn't like to wear them and didn't like to see others wearing them either.  

But it was only going to last a couple weeks, and it was the right thing to do.  It made me safer and it made my friends and neighbors safer too.  

But right away it was obviously going to make trouble.  Those clowns on the right were not going to like it, not at all.

Well alright we have our differences.  But we got along because we more or less looked alike.  We could root for the Cubs together, we could stand by the bus stop and curse the CTA for that late bus, and everything was fine.

But now we could tell at a glance who was woke and who was not woke.  I don't remember any fistfights on the sidewalks, but sometimes there were unpleasant stares on both sides.

I have to admit it, I became sort of a mask warrior.  I counted the masked and unmasked as I walked to the Jewel.  Downtown it was pretty good, maybe 70 to 30 percent woke, but as you got into the rest of the city it was maybe 50 50, and in the burbs less than that, and downstate Katy bar the door, and let's not even talk about what was going on in those faraway red states.

The masks were particularly uncomfortable in the gym running on the treadmill, but it was the right thing to do.  I remember one time there were a couple young guys with their masks pulled down under their noses. I called them out.  Words were exchanged.  They were both pretty big and kind of rough looking, afterwards I wondered if I was nuts for calling them out, but, you know, it was the right thing to do.

Of course the other side thought they were doing the right thing too.  They were sticking up for themselves, being free, is that not what USA is all about?  

Those bastards, they were endangering the lives of my friends and neighbors.  How hard is it to wear a mask anyway?

There are tons of statistics about masks and how effective they were.  I think the stats come out in favor of them as far as life and death are concerned, but there are so many variables, warm and cold weather, Americans vs Swedes, etc.  That it's hard to tell.

I think I took it too far.  I don't remember that Elsdon Methodist Church taught me this, but I believe we should hate the sin but love the sinner.  I wasn't doing that in those mask days.  I regret it.

Staying Alive

 My mind is as sharp as it ever was, it's only my back, my knees, my shoulders, my heart, and my lungs that have functionally declined over the years.  It suppose it could be worse, a lot of people my age are dead.  

Living in the Freehold has certainly gotten more problematic, but we are getting by with a little help from our friends, as well as our daughter and some hired hands.  I have seen worse winters, but of course this one ain't over yet.  We haven't gotten nearly as much snow locally as some nearby communities, and last night was the first time the temperature dropped below zero.  

Most of our memorabilia is packed away in storage.  We don't have a lot of energy or spare time to dig it out and reminisce over it.  After my mother died, my sister found a whole bunch of stuff that she had kept from our childhood days.  I would have pitched it, but my sister pointed out that we should save it because it meant something to our mother.  I suppose she was right, but now our daughter will have that much more stuff to dispose of after we both are gone.  

in the Dead of the Dead of Winter

 Super-agers huh?  I can still do a lot of things pretty well, but I do put things down and five seconds later have no idea where they are.  Complicating this is the fact that often the item has been sitting right in front of me on the table all the while.  I often walk into another room and have no idea why.  Sometimes I can figure it out. and sometimes I have to go back into the first room and almost always the reason becomes clear.  I am terrible with names and words.  I'll be spouting on and all of a sudden the next word is gone.  Just gone.  I could vaguely sense it as I approached it, but when it comes time to say it, it flies away like a little bird.  I know exactly what or who I want to say, but the word or name is no longer attached.  Sometimes I can pause just a little and it comes to me, but most often I have to resort to the embarrassing 'that thing that...' or 'that guy who...' 

It's worrisome.  Will it just continue the way it is, or will it get worse and worse?  Well whatcha gonna do?

I don't know what great authority said that boomers don't begin until January 1, 1946. but I say bushwa.  It goes to at least January 1, 1945.  I wore my Davy Crockett racoon cap just as proudly as the kids in the grade behind me.  I don't know shit about this silent generation, but it is something I can do a little research on, also that Dunning-Kruger Institute, but I'll do that later before I forget what I am writing about.

I was quite the little Christer in my young days.  I remember going up to Frank Shapiro, who was a grade ahead of me, shooting baskets in the Tonti Grade School and cursing when he missed one, and asking the probing question, "What if Jesus heard you say that?"  Surprisingly it had no effect on Frank.  At about twelve I thought about that religion thing, and figured it was all bushwa (My train of thought began with there being no Santa Claus).  I stood up in my bedroom and told any lingering Listener, "I am an atheist," and nothing happened.  So I guess that was my proof that it was all bushwa.

6:42, 5 below.  Watching the river for the ice to appear.  Just fine in my tower, and I know that Old Dog's apartment is ship-shape, but I worry about Beagles out there in the freehold, especially since he is getting snow that Old Dog and I are not.

Hang in there Beagles. 

Congratulations!

I'm always surprised when I learn something new and add a new word to my vocabulary; both of you gentleman are qualified to be called Super-Agers.

"Researchers from Vanderbilt University Medical Center investigated what super-agers – people who enter their 80s with the cognitive function of those many decades younger..." 

Source:
https://newatlas.com/brain/alzheimers-dementia/super-agers-genes/

Pretty cool, in my opinion.  With any luck I'll be joining your ranks in a couple of years.

 

 

Laughing all the way?

Okay, Uncle Ken; what is "bon yoyage?"  Did I ever mention that your attention to detail stinks?  Of course I did, but if you don't care I won't either.

-----

Seems to me that you guys from The Silent Generation are seriously contemplating your mortality, maybe even getting ready to check out.  Hope you're not circling the drain or in a distressed situation.  As a Baby Boomer in good standing and an honors graduate of the Dunning-Kruger Institute I am selfish enough and delusional enough to tell the Grim Reaper to go fuck himself; I'm making my own rules.  The human body is amazing in its capacity to fix itself in many cases.  Okay, I'll admit I can't do much about cancer but according to my most recent medical assessment I'll drop dead from either heart attack or stroke; hope it's quick.  Maybe an ICE agent will hasten the process.  Meanwhile, I'm paying attention to the things I'm supposed to do, you know the drill and have access to the same information as I do.  So it goes.

-----

Your little sample of keepsakes is revealing, Uncle Ken.  I don't know if my school had attendance awards and I certainly tried to get out of Sunday School every week, to no avail.  Larry Goodman's Community Theater (with Flash Gordon!) was much more important to me.  I tried dodging church, too; big fail again but I don't think I suffered any lasting harm.

I'll be digging through my accumulated treasures one of these days; maybe find something worth writing about.

-----

One of Gary Larson's more memorable Far Side cartoons was titled "Cow Tools."  Check this out: https://www.livescience.com/animals/land-mammals/ever-seen-a-pet-cow-pick-up-a-broom-and-scratch-herself-with-it-you-have-now

Is this an omen?