With apologies to Yeats
Tuesday, December the 30th at 1:38 PM
in the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Eight (1 year, 2 months ago)
P
ity the quiet neighborhood through which I pass on my travels. Cower in fear and shield your children as the wheezing fury of an overworked, under-maintained 14 year-old Honda Civic lets loose with the roar of 1,000 angry weed eaters on its way past you in the intersection. Hold fast your loved ones & scramble from the sweep of yellowed headlights, their stare pitiless and unblinking. What rough beast, when work's final hour comes round at last, slouches towards Towanda to be parked?
The Civic needs some TLC these days. The exhaust is, ah... scary. At this age and mileage, it's still got a decent amount of life left, but it also might be a good time to change horses before it has something more serious go wrong. I think it needs a new exhaust header, but otherwise is in decent shape. Rust is evidence of character, right? Maybe I could sell the Civic & Miata and get into something that can do winter & summer with aplomb. I'll have to pick Shep's brain on how to buy something practical.
We've navigated successfully through 83 different Christmas affairs with only one left -- The Atomic Family. Pack your Geiger counter, because next Saturday we'll traipse over to my brother's and ogle his enormous TV and rehash stories of my suffering at the hands of both brothers. My spirit is undimmed, however. My brother's wife somehow manages to raise 3 year old twins and make her house look like, well, that neither my nephews or brother live within 100 miles of the place. It's impressive. Most recently we ate our way through Sally's family get-together. If only the olympics added an event for holiday meals... The Heinzel clan would seriously dominate the podium.
Window work is still ongoing at the power plant. They've nearly finished all the demo/removal work and the mason has started rebuilding some of the brick margins at the window edges. It's slow going with the holidays and the brutal weather we've been having, but the progress is steady. I've posted a few sets showing the changes.
Credit for the paraphrased butchery in the opening paragraph goes to W.B. Yeats.
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