I've Had To Have A Talk With My Wife

I've had to have a serious talk with Marilyn. After a morning of writing and printing checks for cash rents for farm ground, repair bills, diesel fuel bills, grain bin electricity bills and  basically half of our annual outflows for the farm in just one day... I was in no mood for her choice of stamps to put on said bills. It's just not right.

Corned Beef and A Fairlane

The year 1991 was the 20th year reunion for our graduation from the Nebraska College of Technical Agriculture. When I say "our", I mean Marilyn and I graduated from that school in Curtis, Neb., and so we attended the 20th year reunion held in Kearney, Neb., that year.
We were traveling home with our family in the back seat, down old Highway 30. We had agreed to do that instead of speeding down Interstate 80 as a result of a deal I had made with our 14-year-old son, Dan. He wanted to find a classic car to fix up and we were both pretty sure that Highway 30 would be the place to look.
We hadn't traveled many miles when I spotted something that changed the direction of our family forever. Right in the middle of Gibbon, Neb., sitting in all of its faded out glory, was a black 1957 Ford Fairlane. I slowed quickly, circled the block and stopped to examine the old car with a 'For Sale' sign in the left driver's window. The car was mostly intact, had a little rust along the bottom edges but we deemed it to be perfect.
We went home, discussed the purchase amongst the family, also with some local experts as well as a body shop, and I decided that the deal was going to be too expensive to bring to a conclusion. Dan had 4-H calf money and was going forward with or without me. I decided that 'with me' was better so we contacted the owner, reached an agreement on price, hooked on to a flatbed and on March 17, St. Patrick's Day, we brought the old Ford home.
The Corned Beef and Cabbage was ready on our arrival at the farm, but what to do with the old Ford weighed heavy on our minds. We had much to try to learn in the next few years.
We learned that black was the color of choice for old car enthusiasts. Their body lines are straighter because the factories in the '50s would search for the cars on the assembly line with the most correct lines to paint black. Black paint, we found out, will show the slightest imperfections in detail.
Dan and I started on the project. We farmed out the body work and we took the Y block 292 V-8 out and had it rebuilt. Slowly but surely it came together. We did the interior work ourselves as well as the trunk and mechanical.
By June, two years later, he was ready to drive his Fairlane. It turned out very well and looked great but more than that it was one of the biggest influences to have ever hit that young boy. It took a lad who wasn't terribly interested in farming and who was pretty clumsy around an end wrench to someone who found they had real talent and a burning desire to be in the collision repair business. During high school, he began working for the body shop that had worked on his car. He graduated and attended auto collision repair school.
Now, 20 years later, it has led to marriage, building his own collision repair business in Lincoln, Neb., and hiring his brother as the shop manager. The place supports those families plus two others and, most importantly, helps support six of our grandchildren the boys are raising for us.
Spotting an old car back in 1991, in the middle of a small town, led to quite an adventure.
I often find myself listening to some parent talk about their son or daughter and the wild off the wall thing their offspring is involved with. It might be a part-time job, paid or volunteer, or a hobby that has them completely enthralled, or a group performing a song or a play or a speech they've been working on for weeks. I usually say, "That's good because, well, you never know."
I seldom can think about St. Patty's Day without corned beef and cabbage crossing my mind as well as a '57 Fairlane rolling off a flatbed into our shed.
I now know that when children ask questions or permission to do something that is out of the ordinary, "No," shouldn't automatically roll off your tongue because, "Well, you never know."

Dan's Fairlane left--On the right his award winning Probe he built and painted in his College years. The Dupont Paint Company featured it in their company publication.The paint process took 27 hours of non-stop work before he could stop.

I Had A Great Blog Planned...

and it was going to include a movie from my sons' phone. But I couldn't get it sent to me so I'll tell you all about it.
The new Grandson pictured below, Boston, rolled over on his 13th day of life. Dad was sure he'd placed him face down on a blanket in the living room and went to the end of the hall and when he returned, Boston was on his back.
"Wait a minute" went through Tom's mind and  some doubted the story until Mom yelled two days later, "Tom, come here, he did it again." Tom rolled the baby to his stomach again and immediately the baby rolled to his back so Tom got his phone out and sure enough, filmed him rolling over for the third time that day, on his 15th day of life. He's been doing it regularly since.
A bit early for this I'd say.
But on the other hand, he still isn't talking yet. cm

Yesterday In A Grocery Store Far From Home...

Well it was 70 miles from home anyway, I saw a senior citizen coming down the aisle toward me.  She was pretty ordinary looking and she shuffle slowly along the aisle as though her plan was to make this shopping trip last all afternoon.
The message on her T- shirt caught my attention:

             I USED TO CARE.
           ....But now I take a pill for that.

I have either a finely honed sense of humor or it's 'sick' humor, but I laughed on and off all afternoon about the shirt. To me, the funny thing isn't what is said but it has more to do with who said it.

Valentines Day 2011

This is pretty exciting. It's before noon, and I've been outside loading a truck. The only outer wear I had on was a pull over sweatshirt. I feel as though I've been set free.  I don't know how warm it is but we're contending with mud so it must be above freezing which is just as good as 75 degrees to those of us who have been living in the locker plant for the past two months. I did hear 50 degrees plus, for a high in our forecast. Now, where's my speedo. (it was a joke so knock off the laughter)
I took this picture with my phone which isn't too good at sunlight stuff but I liked it just the same so here it is. Beautiful Nebraska. That isn't snow on the ground, it's the white that's left over after the snow melts.

This being Valentines Day, my wife and I exchanged pleaseantries today and then renewed our vow to each other as we are in the middle of our 40th year of wedded bliss.  Actually we've agreed to stay married to each other so as not to run the risk of ruining two other peoples lives.

Let It Snow

We find ourselves, once again, in winter's icy grip. There is no cute little name for this. We have the hazy, lazy, crazy days of summer; the dog days of summer; and cool crisp fall air but all January can give us is someone quietly singing to themselves, "Let it snow, let it snow, let it." … That's about all that gets out of their mouths before someone yells, "Hey! Why don't you shut your pie hole?" Yeah, nerves get on edge this time of year.
It seems that what should take 30 minutes to accomplish in July or August could possibly take at least all day or maybe two days this time of year. One mental error can slow you down significantly. Forgetting to plug in the block heater on a loader tractor, for instance, can cost hours of delay. A tripped breaker can have you off chasing electrical problems and frozen cattle waterers or bring you to the realization that you now have two tractors that won't even consider starting until after lunch. Just after lunch is the time you're supposed to be at the pesticide training session that won't be offered again until Monday, 200 miles from here.
The cold tends to freeze things in place, like the time I was hauling a wooden feed bunk with the loader and had to tell my dad that "we'll need to go back next spring and get the legs for this bunk, they're still out in the feedlot."
Aging has a huge effect on farmers and the winter cold. I've found that even at the age of 60, things I used to take for granted have to be planned for because of poorer blood circulation. Extra layers of clothing and mittens and boots and facemasks and stocking caps are necessary, and oh yeah, a stepladder to help you get into the cab of your pickup.
My buddy Paul related to me that a phone call to friends on a farm in North Dakota had revealed that we really don't know what bad weather is. They had had three feet of snow and high winds for days. The farmer said it was a sad situation and that his wife had just spent the entire day staring through the kitchen window. He said that at about sundown he began to feel sorry for her and let her in. I'm very aware that entertainment is hard to come by out here on the farm but that's something I'm probably not going to try. Marilyn didn't think it was a funny story, I didn't either and quit laughing immediately.
I do look forward to late December and January because of all of the college bowl games and the NFL playoff schedule. I got on the Internet and found a schedule of all of the games as well as a listing of the central time zone start times and what channel they would be on. I carefully set each one to record and told my wife I was set to finally "be a man." I'd be able to watch each game without interruption. My wife said, "Yeah, you'll get four hours of uninterrupted sleep during each game, that should be great." For some reason Jackie Gleason came to mind, "One of these days, to the moon Alice."
Through the entire football schedule I have also come to realize that I have marketable skills. The folks in Las Vegas will be praising me for my abilities some day. What are the chances that out of seemingly 50 or 60 games, I would not be rooting for one winner.
I will now make a prediction based on my vast knowledge of pro football. (ahem) Now keep in mind that I'm writing this before the last two playoff games so I've no idea who the teams are that will be playing in the Super Bowl. I'm pulling for Green Bay to win the Super Bowl. That information, knowing that I'm rooting for the Packers, can make you more money than knowing when the price of corn is going to peak. Place your bets.
Now I have to go unlock the door for my wife.

I Got An Email From Snapfish Today

The computer generated email was an attempt to get me started using their Picture Printing Services. The email said:

Hi Cliff,

A few weeks ago, you uploaded digital photos to Snapfish. You earned a credit for 0 free 4" x 6" digital camera print in your account, but this credit will expire soon.

I became very excited. I need to act quickly. Like the time Ubawahna was promising me that $1 million for helping him hide from his evil relatives.
Life on the farm was never this exciting until I got a computer. Yea! I just might cancel my Directv. Who needs that when you've got the internet.

And Then There Were 8

This is Boston Arthur. He is the latest Morrow born to our youngest this past week.

Mom is tired and beautiful, Dad is beaming and both are proud and should be. 

Boston will join Hudson and Cooper at home.

8#7oz   January 20th, 2011

 This is a picture of Boston holding hands with Grandpa.

Grandma and Grandpa are BREATHLESS once again.

Communication May Be Overrated

Last October during our soybean harvest, I ventured to town with my tractor-trailer with a load destined for our local elevator. It was windy, cold, and overcast and of all the things to worry about, flies or mosquitoes were down the list quite a ways.
But as I pulled to the back of the line, I could see a group of farmers swatting. They were swatting first their chests, then the sides of their vests, then their jeans in the front and then their jeans on the backside. If just one of them had been doing it I might have thought of the term the old timers used and called them teched (as in, he was teched in the head, meaning a bit unstable mentally) (I think they meant "touched").
What were these folks doing? It looked much like a training exercise for future major league third base coaches. ("Okay men, the steal sign will be 5 touches to the body, but only after I've first touched my hat.")
What could these folks be doing? I got out of the truck to investigate but on my arrival to the party, everything seemed normal. After a few minutes talking about the local farmers who had made some "public" mistakes during harvest - like who hit a tree with their unloading auger or how that truck on the county road had landed on its side while turning into the field or who had pulled the unload switch on the combine when they meant to hit the "auger swing out" switch instead and left 50 bushels of beans strung in a line, right by the side of the busiest blacktop in the county.
Well they weren't talking about me this time so I was feeling pretty smug when the swatting mystery was solved right before my eyes.
One person's cell phone rang and everyone started swatting at their bodies in search of their own phone. It looked like a group of TSA airport agents in training. It is indeed a problem for farmers because where their phone is, depends on how they are dressed and what job they've been doing. If they have on vests or sweaters or jackets or coveralls, the phone could be anywhere. And believe me, it could be hard to get to. No one recognizes their own phone when it rings because we all learned a long time ago that we can have a different ring for each person who calls us and so there could be someone whistling or my wife is calling. A band is playing a jazzy little tune on the radio or my buddy from Colorado is calling. A doorbell is ringing in this tractor cab or one of my sons from Lincoln is calling.
I've even been known to be driving down the road in my pickup while moving my hand around the dash trying to stop that incessant buzzing noise emanating from deep inside my gauge cluster, only to realize my phone is set on vibrate and is sitting in plain sight on my dash, and that my wife is calling wondering why I won't ever answer my phone. The short answer is that I couldn't hear it ringing. Because, well, technically it wasn't ringing.
Most meetings I go to have attendees seated at tables spread with note pads, calendars and their cell phones. If just one of those cell phones rings because it hadn't been put on the silent setting, everyone else picks up their own phone. It gives the appearance that they are doing the only polite thing and checking to make sure their own phone won't ring. In reality they've picked up their phone to check for text messages. I can only imagine how disconcerting it is to try to speak to a group preoccupied with their phones.
Old guys who have lost some of their hearing are particularly vulnerable to cell phone problems. More than once I've had someone interrupt a conversation we were having by saying, "Is that you." I answer, "You mean, am I me?" "I sure am." Next they ask, "Is that your phone that's ringing." I start swatting myself.
I'm not sure we're making upward progress in this technology arena, but at least we're busy. Give me a call sometime. I may answer but only after a quick pat search.

Changing Out an Insurance Company

I've had my boat insurance with Progressive, but had recently heard some very disturbing news about it's CEO and his philantropy's.
I looked up his bio and found that what I had read is true and have decided that the ACLU and George Soros do not need my help bringing this country to an end. They're both succeeding in that endeavor with out my money.
He'll need to look elsewhere for my couple of hundred dollars.
It was as much fun as I could have had without laughing.
...Okay, I did laugh.