Business One Seven
Bernadette, some time ago I dropped you at the airport and as per your request it's exit 9A out of the airport, towards Centerville, and then to 66W and at the hour you will be traveling a couple of weeks from now probably best will be the Gainesville route which is 29S on the far side of Manassas, but you have to remember a few miles in to veer right for Warrenton. You know, during the day I always continue on 66 to 17 towards Warrenton, which is exit # 28. I've warned you about all that daydreaming you are prone to but more than warn you of the dangers I cannot do. For example if you blink and miss exit 28 you will at exit 27 see a sign that says 17/Business and the exit and crossover will look to you, or perhaps even to me--for example were it me making this mistake--exactly like it does at exit 28. I don't want to be too harsh on you, there is nothing inherently wrong with daydreaming, so let's just say it was me making this mistake, and even realizing it right off I continued down the road unknown.
A woman is a couple of steps onto the road removing a giant snapping turtle who was on his way to his own adventure, which in this case turned out to be its death. I veer around her but looking in my rear view mirror see that the turtle has in its jaws her index finger so I pull over and offer assistance. This requires me clamping a big pair of vise grips onto the turtle's neck while the woman screams at me--don't hurt the turtle! It's really too late for that, this turtle is soup. Even near death it's not going to let go of her finger so with no encouragement from the woman I pry open the turtles jaw, with a strength tantamount to lifting a car off of her, which would in my mind have been a preferable feat seeing as how I was to her now just a cold-blooded heartless turtle-killing bastard. A farmer in his field has come over to the fence to watch and I offer to him the fat turtle in exchange for taking the woman and her severed finger to the nearest doctor, explaining to him that I am not from these parts.
I did not exactly spin gravel out of there but pretty close to it and as the road snaked under a lush green canopy and then opened up on hay fields back dropped by mountains, I forgot about the turtle incident and felt coaxed by the scenery into a firm determination for getting lost.
Past a cemetery with frankly a better view than dead people deserve the road narrowed quite a bit and it now seemed as if I were going up someone's driveway. That turned out to be just an illusion though and after a fair distance passing distinctly quaint dwellings I came to a stop sign in the town of Ada. From my brief survey looking left and right it appeared the townspeople of Ada had chosen this week for their annual vacation to the Old Dominion Power Plant Museum.
There was then a tapping on my window and I turned to face on the other side of the glass a freckled-faced red-headed boy who was motioning with some urgency for me to roll down my window. I pressed my face up to the glass and peered down to make sure the boy didn't have a headless snapping turtle with him and only when I was convinced that he did not have one did I roll down my window.
Hey mister, we're having a parade today but we don't got no grand marshal and we need one we can't have a parade without a grand marshal and so you're it we need you to be it. Well this was not something I expected to happen today. This was almost like a reward for daydreaming past the proper exit. I quickly ran through in my mind the catalog of responsibilities for the rest of the day and almost as if he were reading my mind the boy said, come on mister, you can't have anything better to do, you just can't. That pretty well settled it and the next thing I know I'm sticking up through the sun roof of a 2006 Lincoln Zephyr waving, but only from the wrist, and blowing kisses to all the young girls up on their daddies shoulders. The parade only lasted one block and when it was over I was awarded in a brief ceremony the key to the town and a peach cobbler. As I drove off the freckled boy ran along beside me and said make sure you come back next year, you can drive the fire truck. I assured him that I would, but only if I got to run the siren AND the lights.
As I drove on still buzzing from that brief taste of celebrity I saw a sign to place that I knew of and though unsure of where it lay in relation to where I was going, I headed there.
...more recent posts
The Old Missle Silo
Yesterday I cut down that dead hemlock tree by my driveway. I wasn't really into it, I just did it because I was feeling antsy. It had two trunks growing off the main trunk and I felled the one to the east and the other to the west. Then I came in and read some from The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, a first time novel from David Wroblewski. It came in the mail the other day from Mr. BC. It's a good one. It's got plenty of dogs and a mute boy living the life in rural Wisconsin. Later in the day I sawed off the limbs and cut the trunks into manageable sections and sawed the main stump down pretty level to the ground, and left it all lying out there.
This morning one of the twins showed up about 8 a.m. to start the mowing (one of them just drove his mower down the driveway. He's wearing a bright, multi- colored mini umbrella on his head. I won't tell you which twin it was because you couldn't tell them apart anyway.) But this morning I had to rouse myself from the loving arms of Bernadette and get those limbs off the yard. Baby, I gots to wrangle those limbs. Reading this she is thinking that's not exactly what you said. But she didn't hear me right anyway, we later ascertained that, so I'm sticking to my version. How's the nuclear missle silo? she asked me over coffee after I had finished up the tree removal. I'm sorry, what? I grunted. When you got out of bed this morning didn't you say the nuclear missle silo had fallen down? I said, I most certainly did not (and just left it at that.)
The one twin, who was up way too early on a Sunday because he's moved back home, drove up on the mower and we chatted while I sat in the utility vehicle piled high with limbs. He said, well, I left the old lady for good. You did? Yeah, I had to. Actually she kicked me out, but when she saw me start to pack up my shit she just stood there with her mouth open. Took me an hour and a half to get it all together but I was gone, back with the parents now. I said well I guess it wasn't going to good for you guys? He said naw, and, oh she called me yesterday saying don't you want to see your baby? but I just said not at all, not right now, this isn't a good time for me.
I kind of ran out of things to say after that, making the excuse that I had just woken up but really I was just feeling bad for everybody too early in the morning. The last time I talked to him they had just finished fighting and scratching and screaming in the front yard while the neighbors watched.
I had some homemade bread with my coffee. I didn't know what to put on the bread because there were only 14 jams and jellies to choose from. One day last week I said Bernadette, don't you think we may have to make room in this fridge for something other than locally made jams and jellies? She wasn't feeling that though and it's not so bad really, and besides, who wants to spread a lonely jam on their morning toast?
Bernadette said she was going to do some weeding up the hill there in what appears to be about a half acre of formal English garden. It has been very helpful having her out these last couple of weeks, weeding and dead heading roses (what? Oh, 250 rose bushes) because without her I would probably just look those ne'rdowells right in their weedy eyes and cry out--all you weeds and wilting rose blooms can kiss my ass.
I loaded up a bunch of stinky garbage and headed to the dump. I stopped and picked up cat food at the Quickie Mart on the way. I picked up a bag of Alley Cat brand but then changed my mind and went for the Meow Mix. I think they were shooting a campaign commercial in there but I'm not sure. A bunch of old farmer men are congregated over by the coffee machine talking seriously early in the morning, as coffee will sometimes make you do. One of them says, I'm not saying I have the answers but something is wrong in this country and its got to change. I didn't hear anyone say cut, and, print, so maybe there was more to it than that.
At the dump, Linda from the diner waved to me on her way out and spying her windshield I wanted to call out to her--you better get your new county tag, that old faded yellow one is going to get you in trouble.
Yesterday I cut down that dead hemlock tree by my driveway. I wasn't really into it, I just did it because I was feeling antsy. It had two trunks growing off the main trunk and I felled the one to the east and the other to the west. Then I came in and read some from The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, a first time novel from David Wroblewski. It came in the mail the other day from Mr. BC. It's a good one. It's got plenty of dogs and a mute boy living the life in rural Wisconsin. Later in the day I sawed off the limbs and cut the trunks into manageable sections and sawed the main stump down pretty level to the ground, and left it all lying out there.
This morning one of the twins showed up about 8 a.m. to start the mowing (one of them just drove his mower down the driveway. He's wearing a bright, multi- colored mini umbrella on his head. I won't tell you which twin it was because you couldn't tell them apart anyway.) But this morning I had to rouse myself from the loving arms of Bernadette and get those limbs off the yard. Baby, I gots to wrangle those limbs. Reading this she is thinking that's not exactly what you said. But she didn't hear me right anyway, we later ascertained that, so I'm sticking to my version. How's the nuclear missle silo? she asked me over coffee after I had finished up the tree removal. I'm sorry, what? I grunted. When you got out of bed this morning didn't you say the nuclear missle silo had fallen down? I said, I most certainly did not (and just left it at that.)
The one twin, who was up way too early on a Sunday because he's moved back home, drove up on the mower and we chatted while I sat in the utility vehicle piled high with limbs. He said, well, I left the old lady for good. You did? Yeah, I had to. Actually she kicked me out, but when she saw me start to pack up my shit she just stood there with her mouth open. Took me an hour and a half to get it all together but I was gone, back with the parents now. I said well I guess it wasn't going to good for you guys? He said naw, and, oh she called me yesterday saying don't you want to see your baby? but I just said not at all, not right now, this isn't a good time for me.
I kind of ran out of things to say after that, making the excuse that I had just woken up but really I was just feeling bad for everybody too early in the morning. The last time I talked to him they had just finished fighting and scratching and screaming in the front yard while the neighbors watched.
I had some homemade bread with my coffee. I didn't know what to put on the bread because there were only 14 jams and jellies to choose from. One day last week I said Bernadette, don't you think we may have to make room in this fridge for something other than locally made jams and jellies? She wasn't feeling that though and it's not so bad really, and besides, who wants to spread a lonely jam on their morning toast?
Bernadette said she was going to do some weeding up the hill there in what appears to be about a half acre of formal English garden. It has been very helpful having her out these last couple of weeks, weeding and dead heading roses (what? Oh, 250 rose bushes) because without her I would probably just look those ne'rdowells right in their weedy eyes and cry out--all you weeds and wilting rose blooms can kiss my ass.
I loaded up a bunch of stinky garbage and headed to the dump. I stopped and picked up cat food at the Quickie Mart on the way. I picked up a bag of Alley Cat brand but then changed my mind and went for the Meow Mix. I think they were shooting a campaign commercial in there but I'm not sure. A bunch of old farmer men are congregated over by the coffee machine talking seriously early in the morning, as coffee will sometimes make you do. One of them says, I'm not saying I have the answers but something is wrong in this country and its got to change. I didn't hear anyone say cut, and, print, so maybe there was more to it than that.
At the dump, Linda from the diner waved to me on her way out and spying her windshield I wanted to call out to her--you better get your new county tag, that old faded yellow one is going to get you in trouble.
Dead County Sticker Redux
I drove four blocks to the post office where I was the only customer and bought a stamped envelope into which I inserted a check to the general contractor and after licking the glue put it in the slot that says local mail. From there I drove two blocks to the Treasurer's office where I was the only customer and for twenty dollars got a new Rappahannock county sticker for my windshield. I walked next door to the courthouse and entered into a vestibule where finding the third door on the right I was the only customer and paid 86 dollars for the ticket I received last weekend for not having the current county sticker. From there I drove about a mile to the farm supply co-op and bought some cleaning supplies and a pack of single edged razor blades. There were three other customers. In the parking lot I started scraping off the sticker with one of the razor blades but convincing myself I was over-reacting to the urgency of a new windshield sticker I discontinued and drove home. About a hundred yards from the driveway a trooper is parked and I pass him going the posted speed limit and my left turn signal on. The trooper flashed his pretty lights and followed me into the driveway. I turned down the death metal on the radio and covered up the AK-47 with a blanket. The trooper pulled up to my left rear and I rolled down my windshield. He said can I see your license and I said is that really necessary? He reached in and got me in a choke hold and pulled me out through the open window and dragged me to the front of his car and threw me up on the hood. You are in a heap of trouble he said. I retorted--you bastard. He pulled a sap from his belt and hit me in the right temple. I cried out--you did it purposely. He put the cuffs on me. I said, I'm telling Mr. BC and he will have your badge. What really happened was he said can I see your license and I said sure while trying to hide the stitching on my wallet that says Bad Mother Fucker and he said hey didn't I ticket you the other day and I said you sure did and he laughs and I say I got the new sticker and he drives off. I don't own an AK-47 and I don't listen to death metal.
I drove four blocks to the post office where I was the only customer and bought a stamped envelope into which I inserted a check to the general contractor and after licking the glue put it in the slot that says local mail. From there I drove two blocks to the Treasurer's office where I was the only customer and for twenty dollars got a new Rappahannock county sticker for my windshield. I walked next door to the courthouse and entered into a vestibule where finding the third door on the right I was the only customer and paid 86 dollars for the ticket I received last weekend for not having the current county sticker. From there I drove about a mile to the farm supply co-op and bought some cleaning supplies and a pack of single edged razor blades. There were three other customers. In the parking lot I started scraping off the sticker with one of the razor blades but convincing myself I was over-reacting to the urgency of a new windshield sticker I discontinued and drove home. About a hundred yards from the driveway a trooper is parked and I pass him going the posted speed limit and my left turn signal on. The trooper flashed his pretty lights and followed me into the driveway. I turned down the death metal on the radio and covered up the AK-47 with a blanket. The trooper pulled up to my left rear and I rolled down my windshield. He said can I see your license and I said is that really necessary? He reached in and got me in a choke hold and pulled me out through the open window and dragged me to the front of his car and threw me up on the hood. You are in a heap of trouble he said. I retorted--you bastard. He pulled a sap from his belt and hit me in the right temple. I cried out--you did it purposely. He put the cuffs on me. I said, I'm telling Mr. BC and he will have your badge. What really happened was he said can I see your license and I said sure while trying to hide the stitching on my wallet that says Bad Mother Fucker and he said hey didn't I ticket you the other day and I said you sure did and he laughs and I say I got the new sticker and he drives off. I don't own an AK-47 and I don't listen to death metal.
Jimbob's Driver's Ed
So are you driving yet?
Almost.
How old are you?
Getting ready to turn 16.
You want to try and drive this thing around the property?
OK.
Alright. Get in the driver's seat. It's only got one gear you need to worry about so you don't have to change anything. You can start it in gear but you have to have the brake on. Just turn the key and it's ready to go, but it goes very fast and you want to take it kind of slow out here.
OK. (turns key)
That's it, now just drive. Alright, a little slower. Now turn the wheel so you don't drive over the bushes, ok, ok, wait, stop. Now we need to put it in reverse, like this. Push the gas. Ok, not so fast, stop. See how the knobby tires eat up the grass when you go fast? So we need to go very slow on the grass around the house. Ok, let's go on. Don't forget to turn the wheel. Slowly, slowly, that's good, whoah, wait, stop. Let's not worry about it, those plants will probably grow back. Is this the first time you've ever driven anything?
Yes.
Oh well I think you're doing fine then. Let's take it out in the open field but remember to go very slow because there are ruts out here that will like to throw you out if you hit them too hard. OK, here comes one, slower, slower, whoah. So when you want to go slower just let your foot off the gas pedal and it will slow down immediately. And then when you want to go forward again you only need to barely push the pedal. OK, ready, go...a little slower, don't push the pedal too hard, wait, wait, stop. I tell you what, I want to get my camera so let's trade places and I'll drive it down to my house.
So you can take pictures of the plants I ran over?
Oh no, we got plenty of plants out here, we're not going to miss those few, I just want to take pictures of you and your sisters. There's no hurry to learn this driving thing, you can pick that up anytime.
So are you driving yet?
Almost.
How old are you?
Getting ready to turn 16.
You want to try and drive this thing around the property?
OK.
Alright. Get in the driver's seat. It's only got one gear you need to worry about so you don't have to change anything. You can start it in gear but you have to have the brake on. Just turn the key and it's ready to go, but it goes very fast and you want to take it kind of slow out here.
OK. (turns key)
That's it, now just drive. Alright, a little slower. Now turn the wheel so you don't drive over the bushes, ok, ok, wait, stop. Now we need to put it in reverse, like this. Push the gas. Ok, not so fast, stop. See how the knobby tires eat up the grass when you go fast? So we need to go very slow on the grass around the house. Ok, let's go on. Don't forget to turn the wheel. Slowly, slowly, that's good, whoah, wait, stop. Let's not worry about it, those plants will probably grow back. Is this the first time you've ever driven anything?
Yes.
Oh well I think you're doing fine then. Let's take it out in the open field but remember to go very slow because there are ruts out here that will like to throw you out if you hit them too hard. OK, here comes one, slower, slower, whoah. So when you want to go slower just let your foot off the gas pedal and it will slow down immediately. And then when you want to go forward again you only need to barely push the pedal. OK, ready, go...a little slower, don't push the pedal too hard, wait, wait, stop. I tell you what, I want to get my camera so let's trade places and I'll drive it down to my house.
So you can take pictures of the plants I ran over?
Oh no, we got plenty of plants out here, we're not going to miss those few, I just want to take pictures of you and your sisters. There's no hurry to learn this driving thing, you can pick that up anytime.
A Dead County Sticker
Cruising through "downtown" Woodville going 40 in a 35 and a Rappahannock trooper does a U-turn right after I pass him. He's doing the Woodville stakeout. I can't tell you how many times I've been warned about sticking to the speed limit through Woodville. Looks like he got me I tell Bernadette beside me. I don't have to tell her to hide the crack pipe. We're not junkies. We are good solid citizens even though 30 minutes in the future I won't sign that guy's petition at the Culpeper Farmers Market. I'm not harboring any ill feelings towards Ralph Nader but I don't want him on the ballot. I do not have that burning passion which is required to fix our election system. We came to Culpeper to buy vegetable matter. That is my focus. And I already signed a piece of paper in Woodville. Not an admission of guilt the trooper assured me. But sir I am guilty I wanted to tell him. He didn't get me for speeding, he got me for the expired Rappahannock County tag. He was nice. He didn't ruin my day or even give me anything particularly noteworthy to write about (Sir, do you think you could throw me up against the Jeep and verbally abuse me, I'm having a dry spell with my blog writing.) No, the cop stop was not really that unpleasant. Not like the cat pooping in Bernadette's lap coming back from N. Carolina last week. Could you pull over, she said, the cat pooped in my lap. We'd already pulled over once for a cat pooping incident but what was I going to say? I'm sorry lover, only one cat poop stop per trip allowed. Bernadette puts up with a fair amount of crap from me. I owe her, at the very least, this second cat poop pullover. Luckily we had already bought some paper towels and Windex during the previous poop pit stop. Well, I guess this will be on the blog Bernadette said after I gently extracted the two chocolate nuggets from where her white blouse curved over her lap. I would like to think I have better taste than to write about Bernadette's misfortune but if you can't even get noteworthy material from a state trooper, well, a man blogger has to do what a man blogger has to do.
I have some garbage that has been super-heating in the garage so I took it to the dump after we got back from Culpeper. I thought maybe the attendant would verbally abuse me at the dump, because the county tag has no real purpose beyond allowing locals to dump their garbage. We are a quaint village without garbage pickup. I tossed the smelly garbage into the giant pit and then drove across the lot and unloaded some bottles for recycle. Not that many really. Three different colors, a little wine, a little beer, a few liquor bottles. Not enough to kill you. Uh oh, the attendant is walking over. I haven't had previous experience with this guy. And it's been almost two years since I was last hassled at the dump for some improper dumping protocol, either by that other attendant or a do-gooder citizen who would really be best advised to just mind their own damn business, the citizens I mean, not the attendant. Minding the business of dumping protocol is exactly his business.
I look this man in the eyes, imploring him, please sir, can you help me with my blog? He says, you got a dead county sticker. I nod, smile knowingly, and consider hugging the man. I don't mind hugging men, on occasion, but I felt it would be out of place under these circumstances. Yeah, I know, I just got a ticket earlier, in Woodville, I told the attendant. He shook his head, with a hint of commiseration, and said, that'll cost you about 50 or a hundred bucks. Damn, I said, not, well, a man who lets his county tag expire two months ago deserves whatever punishment comes his way. He went across the lot to tell the owners of a high end SUV about their dead county sticker. He was polite, even saying, I don't mean to be mean to you...and they were polite and now back at the house it's raining a gulley-washer. Earlier, on the way back from Culpeper we stopped and bought some locally grown hamburger. There were some piglets wallowing in mud puddles. The owner of the farm came over to say hi to Bernadette because he's been missing her. We stood around. The farmer called out to one of the piglets, hey, you're pissing in your own mud puddle. We watched the piglet pissing in the puddle it had just finished wallowing in. It's kind of amazing how these creatures come off as cute but they do, they pull it off.
Cruising through "downtown" Woodville going 40 in a 35 and a Rappahannock trooper does a U-turn right after I pass him. He's doing the Woodville stakeout. I can't tell you how many times I've been warned about sticking to the speed limit through Woodville. Looks like he got me I tell Bernadette beside me. I don't have to tell her to hide the crack pipe. We're not junkies. We are good solid citizens even though 30 minutes in the future I won't sign that guy's petition at the Culpeper Farmers Market. I'm not harboring any ill feelings towards Ralph Nader but I don't want him on the ballot. I do not have that burning passion which is required to fix our election system. We came to Culpeper to buy vegetable matter. That is my focus. And I already signed a piece of paper in Woodville. Not an admission of guilt the trooper assured me. But sir I am guilty I wanted to tell him. He didn't get me for speeding, he got me for the expired Rappahannock County tag. He was nice. He didn't ruin my day or even give me anything particularly noteworthy to write about (Sir, do you think you could throw me up against the Jeep and verbally abuse me, I'm having a dry spell with my blog writing.) No, the cop stop was not really that unpleasant. Not like the cat pooping in Bernadette's lap coming back from N. Carolina last week. Could you pull over, she said, the cat pooped in my lap. We'd already pulled over once for a cat pooping incident but what was I going to say? I'm sorry lover, only one cat poop stop per trip allowed. Bernadette puts up with a fair amount of crap from me. I owe her, at the very least, this second cat poop pullover. Luckily we had already bought some paper towels and Windex during the previous poop pit stop. Well, I guess this will be on the blog Bernadette said after I gently extracted the two chocolate nuggets from where her white blouse curved over her lap. I would like to think I have better taste than to write about Bernadette's misfortune but if you can't even get noteworthy material from a state trooper, well, a man blogger has to do what a man blogger has to do.
I have some garbage that has been super-heating in the garage so I took it to the dump after we got back from Culpeper. I thought maybe the attendant would verbally abuse me at the dump, because the county tag has no real purpose beyond allowing locals to dump their garbage. We are a quaint village without garbage pickup. I tossed the smelly garbage into the giant pit and then drove across the lot and unloaded some bottles for recycle. Not that many really. Three different colors, a little wine, a little beer, a few liquor bottles. Not enough to kill you. Uh oh, the attendant is walking over. I haven't had previous experience with this guy. And it's been almost two years since I was last hassled at the dump for some improper dumping protocol, either by that other attendant or a do-gooder citizen who would really be best advised to just mind their own damn business, the citizens I mean, not the attendant. Minding the business of dumping protocol is exactly his business.
I look this man in the eyes, imploring him, please sir, can you help me with my blog? He says, you got a dead county sticker. I nod, smile knowingly, and consider hugging the man. I don't mind hugging men, on occasion, but I felt it would be out of place under these circumstances. Yeah, I know, I just got a ticket earlier, in Woodville, I told the attendant. He shook his head, with a hint of commiseration, and said, that'll cost you about 50 or a hundred bucks. Damn, I said, not, well, a man who lets his county tag expire two months ago deserves whatever punishment comes his way. He went across the lot to tell the owners of a high end SUV about their dead county sticker. He was polite, even saying, I don't mean to be mean to you...and they were polite and now back at the house it's raining a gulley-washer. Earlier, on the way back from Culpeper we stopped and bought some locally grown hamburger. There were some piglets wallowing in mud puddles. The owner of the farm came over to say hi to Bernadette because he's been missing her. We stood around. The farmer called out to one of the piglets, hey, you're pissing in your own mud puddle. We watched the piglet pissing in the puddle it had just finished wallowing in. It's kind of amazing how these creatures come off as cute but they do, they pull it off.
Trees Fall Down
Meanwhile, back in Virginia, there was rumor of a severe storm while I was gone, but I think it was exaggerated somewhat. I can't find evidence of anything beyond the usual out here. This on the side of the barn.
And this big limb behind the barn
This limb over by the picnic table above the tennis court.
And this one from that tree behind my house that I have been expecting to fall on my bedroom but a big piece of it fell the other way. I guess this was my last warning. I should cut the tree down.
Meanwhile, back in Virginia, there was rumor of a severe storm while I was gone, but I think it was exaggerated somewhat. I can't find evidence of anything beyond the usual out here. This on the side of the barn.
And this big limb behind the barn
This limb over by the picnic table above the tennis court.
And this one from that tree behind my house that I have been expecting to fall on my bedroom but a big piece of it fell the other way. I guess this was my last warning. I should cut the tree down.