Locally, the big news this week was President Obama’s Chapel Hill visit. People complained vociferously about the terrible traffic problems around town. But mentioned only quietly, was the unusual difficulty finding a prostitute during the week leading up to his visit. Ah well, sacrifices must be made.
Perhaps second in importance only to the President’s visit was the annual “Brucemas” celebration. Kind of frightening, but the Pony and I celebrate some major mile stones this year. The Pony turns 60, and Wednesday your idiotic author turned 65. Cripes I feel old. As if to prove it, I got off the bike from “the morning 40” on Tuesday and both hips were sore. Thank God Medicare kicked in; I think I’m gonna need it!
At my volunteer gig, the staff brought in nice treats, I got some birthday cards and we had a lot of fun joking around. But I couldn’t help thinking everyone was just a little too happy for me, the smiles too sweet, the hugs a bit too heartfelt. Behind it all, could they really have been thinking, poor bugger, his days are numbered? Well, I’ve got news for everyone. My days are numbered, but the number is huge. I’ve told my investment advisor Emilio Ponzi (no relation, so he says) that I’m going to live to age 90. Right now he’s frantically trying to recoup giant losses in order to avoid some lean years in my 80’s.
The birthday celebration ended with Pizza and beer, then finally the cake. Check this baby out.
That my friends is a chocolate mousse (not moose or mouse) cake, with way more mousse than cake. It was prepared by Bonnie at Miele Bon Bon here in Carrboro. I’m telling you, that woman knows what she’s doing. A piece of that cake and a cup of coffee…you won’t care what age you are.
Hey, Pony fans, it’s time for Pony News.
On Friday I went out to Gene’s. We turned on the gas (anyone can be trained), hit the starter and “voila,” the old boy started right up for us. We ran it for 45 minutes. The hydraulic pump was still not leaking oil, and the newly replaced oil line didn’t leak either. There is some seepage of water around a couple of head bolts, but not enough to bother an ostrich. The only oddity and this happened last time we ran it too, is that there is oil seeping up around one head bolt. This defies explanation, but we’ve decided it isn’t going to stop us. So for now, we’re going to ignore it, move on and start working on brakes and steering. Next goal: getting the Pony to move under its own power.
I’ve got a few images left from the Minnesota trip, so I thought I’d throw one in this post. As I was going through the photo albums at the Heritage Center in NYA, the one below kind of jumped out at me.
Kind of makes me wish I had some of that Conoco for the Pony.
The year’s strawberry jam is done. I’ve been making strawberry jam for at least 20 years. The Princess asked me whether I enjoyed making it. It is an incredible rigmarole, and I had to answer that no, I didn’t. The part I do enjoy is going out and picking the berries. I don’t care what the weather, I never see unhappy people in a berry patch. Laughing kids run up and down the rows, all with fingers stained red and some with red “clown mouths.” Parents give quiet instructions: “Snap ’em off to the side, honey…like this,” “Don’t pick the green ones,” “Don’t squeeze them too hard,” “Hey, stop eating those!” Other adults squat silently in their rows, half smiling, enjoying the scene, soaking in the sun, the breeze, the sound of a hawk screeching way off, and continuing a ritual performed by most for decades.
Let the last one fall
Just after picking.
May all your berries be sweet, and thanks for reading.