flying high

The hunt is on for somebody with a square baler willing to work with me on this straw thing. So far I've got two names from the hay guy who only does round ones. I stood in my kitchen one day and watched that sucker jump and roll when his tractor went up in flames over by the golf course. My back view is like rural Americana and city government all rolled into one with the airport and golf course hiding right across the wheat field. Needless to say when the military choppers land over there it's loud as heck. One of my favorite pastimes is watching the personal planes with student or recreational pilots glide right down to the runway. The sky is clear and open on that side of the house, not obstructed by the trees of Pecan Lane.

Many of the ancient trees that line our lane are around a hundred years old, no doubt planted when the farm and orchard were established. Breeding stock were sold out of the giant haunted barn that now houses tractors. My house was built around 1918 as a residence for the foreman and his family. That's why there's a tiny little porch off the dining room...so you can just step right out and holla! Right now said door is blocked with a mattress to keep the wind out. I'm beginning to understand cabin fever a bit better being confined to two rooms by the weather. I'm thinking that this spring will be the one where I get off my happy ass and accomplish something for myself, even if it's just growing my own food. It's just stupid not to.

Work is work and I'm just staying in the zone where I usually reside, wandering around to see what needs doing. I read today about "cross training" of techs being a big deal in some places which is something I've never considered as a generalist. We barely had phlebotomists when I started, and they also did EKGs. We heated the tests in tubes with chemicals in boiling water and read the colors on a spectrophotometer. Yeah...that's how old I am. It's mostly automated now and thank the lort for that. This old gal is wayyyyy past taking call and cooking creatinines. I remember my supervisor at my first (and only) job trying to get me to insert an NG tube for a gastric acid test. That, my friend, wasn't covered in my class and I said hell to the no.

One of my friends that I smooth did not include in the end of my year rambling is Phyllis or, as I like to call her, you "harpie." We met and bonded immediately when Dubya was all that and dogged him until he left. Her blog was a rowdy satirical look at Washington politics at that time, and the wives of some of these great and wonderful players in the GOP, she called harpies. Her husband died a few years after that and she's now happily remarried and still a smartass. As a writer, a woman and a friend...she has taught me a lot.

So, if any of ya'll got a square baler hook me up, umkay?

Peace out ^j^