Things went south even as we proceeded to go south. Well, sort of. Wengerd took the wheel in I Falls and headed south on 53. He'd done it often enough that incompetence should not have been an issue.
Whatsoever.
Well, things were pretty normal considering we'd just pulled out from Subway and he was cradling a 12" Chicken Marinara Sub on a 9 grain honey oat bun loaded with every conceivable vegetable known to Subway in his lap. He set his cruise control on the borrowed Nissan Sentra and began the navigation process with his legs while unwrapping this 12" sumptious delight with both hands. Ahhh, the smell was delightful. And so was the taste. But this was normal.
Even the napkin/bib stuffed down his shirt. That was normal too.
But, alas, things went south from there. We got into Duluth, a massive conglomeration of confusing intersections, and he set about exiting onto I-35 S when in reality we wanted I-35 N which ran in conjuntion with US 53 S. Even in the gathering darkness, the local scenery was not looking very familiar to him. He woke his snoozing passenger with the words, "I think I missed 53."
The awakened passenger dutifully opened up the map while shaking the cobwebs that had settled in his brain as he rested his eyes. "I think you want 2 East. That should get us to 53."
And it was so, even though the residents in the rear parts began to snicker at Wengerd's wanderings. Later, when we joined US 2 E/US 53 S, we continued our journey in a southerly fashion. Little did Wengerd realize that 53 did the splits with US 2 in the town of Wentworth, WS, not far at all from Duluth/Superior.
Half an hour later he wondered at a sign he saw. US 2 and something else, but no US 53! How could they miss putting up such an important sign on this major road? Maybe there was one further up. There wasn't. This would explain the lack of expected four lanes. So once again to the peacefully napping passenger, "Uh, could you look at the map? I think I missed 53."
He tried to ignore the ridicule emanating from the rear of the vehicle. One rider thought maybe it was time for a change in staff manning the wheel. He laughed appreciatively at their juvenile humor as he turned around and headed for some obscure back roads that appeared to offer some hope. It turned out we had not been headed south, we had been headed east. We did need to go east, but not there we didn't.
So at the direction of our staff passenger/navigator we got on 27 headed south. This was really out in the boondocks. No houses. No cell phone service. Nothing, just trees. We nearly went right by county road A. Wengerd slammed on the brakes just in time to make a hard right turn turn into the left lane of A. Of course there was no one there, which was handy. (I thought I saw some deer standing along the highway snickering, but I'm not sure. jk.)
Indeed A took us to our beloved US 53 S. Albeit Business US 53 S, but it worked. And things didn't go quite so far south after that, but we did. Praise the Lord.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Doing turkey-in-the-hole with Gary officiating.
1. Take three turkeys and slather them in margarine and seasonings. Make sure there’s at least one health fanatic around to throw conniptions. This causes endless entertainment to the normal people gathered about.
2. Snap lots of photos with the perpetrators in various poses appropriate for the occasion.
3. Pack with ice and wrap (do not rap) turkeys in 14 layers of foil. This layer number has been refined over many years of trial and error by the head turkey-in-the-holer.
4. Rig up a wiring system around carcass so as to easily hook it and thereby extract from the fire at the appropriate time.
5. Build fire on green logs centred (we’re in Canada) over hole. Have logs collapse in hole prematurely. Use old garage door tracks instead. The idea is to have hot coals fall down in hole, then at the right time, bury turkeys in these coals.
6. “Sleep” on foam and blanket by the fire all night. Of course, we use the term “sleep” as liberally as possible.
7. Stoke fire often because it’s birch firewood, not oak.
8. Remove from hole 8 hrs. later. Very tasty. One was marinated, and I think the others were injected with marination.
It was a pretty good feast for a bunch of Canadians celebrating US Thanksgiving: turkey, dressing, baked corn, jello, sweet potato soufflé, pumpkin pie, and homemade ice cream. Kevin and Albert made the pies. And nobody perished from food poisoning. We cranked the ice cream maker by hand, but unfortunately the gears were wearing down. They kept catching, and actually left a not-so-pleasing film of metal shaving dust on the lid. This had a way of working its way into the ice cream itself. Even though we scooped some of it out, we did wonder why the ice cream was darker than normal. Just kidding. Again, there were no casualties from the ingestion of the contents, for which we are grateful.
1. Take three turkeys and slather them in margarine and seasonings. Make sure there’s at least one health fanatic around to throw conniptions. This causes endless entertainment to the normal people gathered about.
2. Snap lots of photos with the perpetrators in various poses appropriate for the occasion.
3. Pack with ice and wrap (do not rap) turkeys in 14 layers of foil. This layer number has been refined over many years of trial and error by the head turkey-in-the-holer.
4. Rig up a wiring system around carcass so as to easily hook it and thereby extract from the fire at the appropriate time.
5. Build fire on green logs centred (we’re in Canada) over hole. Have logs collapse in hole prematurely. Use old garage door tracks instead. The idea is to have hot coals fall down in hole, then at the right time, bury turkeys in these coals.
6. “Sleep” on foam and blanket by the fire all night. Of course, we use the term “sleep” as liberally as possible.
7. Stoke fire often because it’s birch firewood, not oak.
8. Remove from hole 8 hrs. later. Very tasty. One was marinated, and I think the others were injected with marination.
It was a pretty good feast for a bunch of Canadians celebrating US Thanksgiving: turkey, dressing, baked corn, jello, sweet potato soufflé, pumpkin pie, and homemade ice cream. Kevin and Albert made the pies. And nobody perished from food poisoning. We cranked the ice cream maker by hand, but unfortunately the gears were wearing down. They kept catching, and actually left a not-so-pleasing film of metal shaving dust on the lid. This had a way of working its way into the ice cream itself. Even though we scooped some of it out, we did wonder why the ice cream was darker than normal. Just kidding. Again, there were no casualties from the ingestion of the contents, for which we are grateful.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Ever wonder about the advantages to being fat? Consider this for one: Fat people are harder to kidnap. Also they make for more interesting stories. Now I am in neither endorsing nor condemning the essence of being fat. There are both advantages and disadvantages to being overweight, but it seems to me that the disadvantages outweigh the advantages. (Okay, that was a bad joke.) Here's one story I heard not long ago.
The Nine Hundred Pound Man
Many years ago, in the South, there lived a man that during his lifetime put on plenty of weight. So much that when he died, he weighed in the neighborhood of nine hundred pounds. (And he weighed nine hundred pounds in his neighborhood too.) Now the funeral director had no way of dealing with the actual burial of one so heavy. So he did the only thing he could do; he called the local pourer/hauler/setter of septic tanks. This guy had a truck with a boom and winch that he used for septic tank installation.
So there he was, with his old, dirty truck in the the funeral procession, when one his steel pieces fell off the truck. Since this piece would be mandatory for lowering the casket, there was nothing to do but to halt the procession while he ran back to retrieve the piece.
When they got to the grave, they chained up the casket and let it down slowly. However, since his winch was kind of the way it was, it turned out to be a rather jerky descent down into the hole. ("Steady by jerks," they used to say.) After the body was lowered, they tried vainly to pull the chains out, but it was no use. They were hopelessly stuck under all that weight. So they threw them in and buried him with chains.
Da Nein Hunnaht Pund Mann
(PAD version)
Yoahra zrikk, in di Saud, es voah en mann es blendi feel gvicht druff gedua hott ivvah sei layves-zeit. So feel es ivvah di zeit vo eah gshteahva is hott eah nein hunnaht pund gveekt. Nau di leicht ivvah-saynah hott kenn vayk katt fa ebbah so shveah fagrawfa. So hott eah en calli gekawld es septic tanks gleahed un gsetzt hott fa sei eahvet. Eah hott di dingah als gsetz mitt sei truck es en boom un winch druff katt hott.
So datt voah eah, mitt sei alt, dreckichah truck in di leicht lein. No uff aymol shleid ayns funn sei shtawl shtikkah ab funn sei bett un fald uff da vayk. Siddah es deah shtikk oahrich notvendich voah fa da lohd nunnah lossa, hott eah missa di lein uff hayva deveil es eah zrikk ganga iss fa's shtikk zrikk hohla.
Vo si an's grawb kumma sinn, henn si ketta unnich da lawt gedua fa's shloh nunnah lossa. Avvah siddah's sei winch voah saddah da vayk es es voah, hott's da lawt oarich jerky nunnah in's loch glost. Noch demm es da leib nunnah voah henn si beviaht di ketta ruff zeeya, avvah's voah kenn gutt. Si voahra zu veesht kshtukka unnich awl's gvicht. Si henn uff gend si nei shmeissa, un henn een fagrawva mitt ketta.
(Anyone know the word for "jerky"?)
The Nine Hundred Pound Man
Many years ago, in the South, there lived a man that during his lifetime put on plenty of weight. So much that when he died, he weighed in the neighborhood of nine hundred pounds. (And he weighed nine hundred pounds in his neighborhood too.) Now the funeral director had no way of dealing with the actual burial of one so heavy. So he did the only thing he could do; he called the local pourer/hauler/setter of septic tanks. This guy had a truck with a boom and winch that he used for septic tank installation.
So there he was, with his old, dirty truck in the the funeral procession, when one his steel pieces fell off the truck. Since this piece would be mandatory for lowering the casket, there was nothing to do but to halt the procession while he ran back to retrieve the piece.
When they got to the grave, they chained up the casket and let it down slowly. However, since his winch was kind of the way it was, it turned out to be a rather jerky descent down into the hole. ("Steady by jerks," they used to say.) After the body was lowered, they tried vainly to pull the chains out, but it was no use. They were hopelessly stuck under all that weight. So they threw them in and buried him with chains.
Da Nein Hunnaht Pund Mann
(PAD version)
Yoahra zrikk, in di Saud, es voah en mann es blendi feel gvicht druff gedua hott ivvah sei layves-zeit. So feel es ivvah di zeit vo eah gshteahva is hott eah nein hunnaht pund gveekt. Nau di leicht ivvah-saynah hott kenn vayk katt fa ebbah so shveah fagrawfa. So hott eah en calli gekawld es septic tanks gleahed un gsetzt hott fa sei eahvet. Eah hott di dingah als gsetz mitt sei truck es en boom un winch druff katt hott.
So datt voah eah, mitt sei alt, dreckichah truck in di leicht lein. No uff aymol shleid ayns funn sei shtawl shtikkah ab funn sei bett un fald uff da vayk. Siddah es deah shtikk oahrich notvendich voah fa da lohd nunnah lossa, hott eah missa di lein uff hayva deveil es eah zrikk ganga iss fa's shtikk zrikk hohla.
Vo si an's grawb kumma sinn, henn si ketta unnich da lawt gedua fa's shloh nunnah lossa. Avvah siddah's sei winch voah saddah da vayk es es voah, hott's da lawt oarich jerky nunnah in's loch glost. Noch demm es da leib nunnah voah henn si beviaht di ketta ruff zeeya, avvah's voah kenn gutt. Si voahra zu veesht kshtukka unnich awl's gvicht. Si henn uff gend si nei shmeissa, un henn een fagrawva mitt ketta.
(Anyone know the word for "jerky"?)
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Shvatz un Veis
I was in Colorado anyway, so I thought I'd stop in and see Dallas Knepp (and family) in Canon (read: canyon) City. "Do you want to come to the banquet Saturday night?" He wondered. I thought I might. Yet, when he called me back, he had yet another question/request. "Would you like to serve at this banquet?"
Of course, I asked the first question that immediately pops into a guy's mind. (No, nothing involving . . . well, never mind.) "Will there be lots of free food?" There was. Nevertheless, I forgot to ask that very critical question. Instead of addressing important issues such as this, he let me know that we would be dressed in black and white ("shvatz un veis" for you Dutch people that don't know English). Not even the most colorblind person could say that the green and tan I had along was "close enough". So we did what all good Mennonites do, we borrowed what we could, and the rest we got at Goodwill for $3.99+tx. Even though I looked like I could have fit 2 of me in the white shirt I borrowed, I decided to wear it anyway. The black pants were bought. (I like pants?)
It turned out that approximately 80% of the servers also moonlighted as New Horizon Ministries Thrift Store workers. "Why didn't you go to OUR thrift store?" This was a typical response to my very insensitive decision to shopping at their competitor's place of business. So I responded with typical sensitivity by laughing in their faces.
Maniacly. Okay, not really. But I did point out that since they were closed at 4:00 that Saturday, I would have had to enter by means of the brick-through-the-window-approach. This I feel would have negatively affected the exterior decor, since they don't go for the "broken glass" look.
Besides, I did enough damage for the night when I tried to carry 4 empty mugs on 3 saucers and learned that it's 1 too many. But on the positive side, I didn't dump hot coffee in anyone's lap or on their cell phones (So coffee does hurt those things?). Nor did I flip my tray bearing all manner of salad plates on the floor (2 minute rule anyone?). And I didn't trip over a chair leg whilst carrying the hot food. So it could have always been much more "interesting".
Of course, I asked the first question that immediately pops into a guy's mind. (No, nothing involving . . . well, never mind.) "Will there be lots of free food?" There was. Nevertheless, I forgot to ask that very critical question. Instead of addressing important issues such as this, he let me know that we would be dressed in black and white ("shvatz un veis" for you Dutch people that don't know English). Not even the most colorblind person could say that the green and tan I had along was "close enough". So we did what all good Mennonites do, we borrowed what we could, and the rest we got at Goodwill for $3.99+tx. Even though I looked like I could have fit 2 of me in the white shirt I borrowed, I decided to wear it anyway. The black pants were bought. (I like pants?)
It turned out that approximately 80% of the servers also moonlighted as New Horizon Ministries Thrift Store workers. "Why didn't you go to OUR thrift store?" This was a typical response to my very insensitive decision to shopping at their competitor's place of business. So I responded with typical sensitivity by laughing in their faces.
Maniacly. Okay, not really. But I did point out that since they were closed at 4:00 that Saturday, I would have had to enter by means of the brick-through-the-window-approach. This I feel would have negatively affected the exterior decor, since they don't go for the "broken glass" look.
Besides, I did enough damage for the night when I tried to carry 4 empty mugs on 3 saucers and learned that it's 1 too many. But on the positive side, I didn't dump hot coffee in anyone's lap or on their cell phones (So coffee does hurt those things?). Nor did I flip my tray bearing all manner of salad plates on the floor (2 minute rule anyone?). And I didn't trip over a chair leg whilst carrying the hot food. So it could have always been much more "interesting".
Friday, November 6, 2009
1800 miles and arriving in not too many pieces . . .
We made it to CO. The last day involved some white-knuckle moments with the steering wheel as I went swinging around various curves in the Rockies. Swinging, because with the trailer load I was pulling, a bump/curve combination would cause the trailer to sway hither and yon. But maybe this is how character is developed.
Today we unloaded and packed most of their (I refer you to the previous post) worldy goods in two storage units. And there were frequent exclamations (not from me) saying things like, "What were we drinking when we decided to bring all this stuff?" Or, even worse, "We brought a dehumidifier out HERE?!" If you understand the arid climate here, you will appreciate that. But with the help of copious servings of Mexican food from Taco Bell*, we were able to get it safely stored in a short time thereafter.
Later we stopped at Paul Hershberger's to pick up an elk head that his brother Ray (from my area) got mounted. Since the residents wherein it was stored were out of town, we weren't sure if we'd have to resort to illegal methods of entry (jk!). Fortunately, not only was the basement door not locked, the door wasn't even latched. After being entertained by Paul's vast repertoire of hunting stories, we ended up lating the head on the back of Marv's truck bed. On top of the cover. Since we were only going about a mile, I, being of __(?) mind, agreed to sit on the back to prevent this thing from ending up resembling roadkill. But as I sat on the back with my legs dangling over the tailgate, I wondered what would prevent me from becoming something resembling roadkill? Especially as we were being followed. Arriving at our destination in the growing darkness, I heard someone cry out, "Dude, they got their elk!" If they only knew . . .
*There are those among us that would argue that what passes for Mexican food in Taco Bell is not really Mexican (or food). They're probably right, but with enough sauce packets, it did the job.
Today we unloaded and packed most of their (I refer you to the previous post) worldy goods in two storage units. And there were frequent exclamations (not from me) saying things like, "What were we drinking when we decided to bring all this stuff?" Or, even worse, "We brought a dehumidifier out HERE?!" If you understand the arid climate here, you will appreciate that. But with the help of copious servings of Mexican food from Taco Bell*, we were able to get it safely stored in a short time thereafter.
Later we stopped at Paul Hershberger's to pick up an elk head that his brother Ray (from my area) got mounted. Since the residents wherein it was stored were out of town, we weren't sure if we'd have to resort to illegal methods of entry (jk!). Fortunately, not only was the basement door not locked, the door wasn't even latched. After being entertained by Paul's vast repertoire of hunting stories, we ended up lating the head on the back of Marv's truck bed. On top of the cover. Since we were only going about a mile, I, being of __(?) mind, agreed to sit on the back to prevent this thing from ending up resembling roadkill. But as I sat on the back with my legs dangling over the tailgate, I wondered what would prevent me from becoming something resembling roadkill? Especially as we were being followed. Arriving at our destination in the growing darkness, I heard someone cry out, "Dude, they got their elk!" If they only knew . . .
*There are those among us that would argue that what passes for Mexican food in Taco Bell is not really Mexican (or food). They're probably right, but with enough sauce packets, it did the job.
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