All Things Profane and Sacred

Man, oh man, I'm not sure where February has gone. January neither for that matter. Our woodpile is looking pretty depleted, but it hasn't been too chilly mostly. The sun is starting to feel warm again and is actually out once and a while.

J is officially a green collar worker, having spent the last couple of months working in a fab shop on a large organic/sustainable farming operation over in the valley. They're also paying for some of his schooling, so he's pretty happy.

The cars are up and down, mostly down. The big old green beast had a steady stream of problems, which cumulated in the turbo charger pooping out. Of course this happened just outside of Eugene, about an hour's drive from our house. We took the backroads home, since we couldn't get it up over 35 mph. It was on a dark windy mountain road that a car started trailing us. We didn't have room to pull over for a few miles. When we finally were able to pull off the road to let them by, the bastard hit his lights and we realized it was the fuzz at our bumper.

I realized as soon as the lights flashed just how suspicious we looked. While we were dinking with the car in Eugene, I got a raging headache, so I had the seat cranked down. We were passing a bottle of OJ back and forth. We didn't think to turn off NPR, so Dead Air was playing when he walked up to our window. He let us go and we limped the car the rest of the way home.

So I spent a few weeks piloting a borrowed 5 speed truck, which drives just a little differently than the VW. I suppose now I really know how to drive stick. Now J has resurrected the beast that we bought last summer, which mostly starts. On days when it doesn't start, I drive him in to Corvallis and pick him up after work. Long days, oh lord.