so I've been pitching firewood with Juan Bascaran who brought a load from the Salidek farm where Ken used to live before he passed on a couple months ago. Didn't get to see him just before he passed. T he day I went to visit him in the hospital was a day late as he had died the day before. We'd known he was on his last legs for a few weeks, in and out of hospital, congestive lungs, the works. Tough to get old, Mom says, but what does she know really other than she's been there and done it all for nearly 90 years now and is running us all into the poor house staying at a fancy nursing home for six thousand bucks a month. Like we had any choice about not preferring borscht...So if it's easily done, this constant tending routine she's gotten to and where Ken was once upon a time before he passed away...then I thank God for the gift of firewood from the Sadilek farm that I just unloaded from Bascaran's truck...each piece I lift and stack into its place of dryness will be appreciated for the warmth it gives..
meanwhile my little gray stationwagon is at the car shop being looked at and I am in a feverish state about that, it's like Lovejoy's little tooler 'Miriam'..some kind of English jitneymobile constantly needing attention, about as old as my machine, with the same kinds of road rigors to cope with..had planned to put on new brakes with my neighbor but he's been flaking out on me and the parts are still in the box..
meanwhile my little gray stationwagon is at the car shop being looked at and I am in a feverish state about that, it's like Lovejoy's little tooler 'Miriam'..some kind of English jitneymobile constantly needing attention, about as old as my machine, with the same kinds of road rigors to cope with..had planned to put on new brakes with my neighbor but he's been flaking out on me and the parts are still in the box..
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