Status Report

I am sitting in a coffee shop in Iowa, one of the United States of America, where I was able to log on. I did so 50 minutes ago. It has taken that long for my virus software, Windows Vista, and Java to download multiple updates involving multiple restarts of my laptop. All seems to be quiet now.

I stayed with my aged parents on the farm for three weeks, far too long for them and far too long for me. All is as well as can be expected there on the farm. Stared out the window with them for extended periods and saw some grandchildren. Enough said about that.

I have now changed venues to a friends guest bedroom about 35 miles to the south. The friend operates under the nom de guerre of Wings. There has been business to transact. Primarily, I needed to get my Driver's License renewed. Secondarily, I needed to go through mail, tend to a few minor things that appeared therein, get another year's supply of contact lenses, purchase some new jeans, finally close my post office box—little things like that.

Wings has been very kind to take me in. I have offered to demolish an old tree house on his acreage in return. The roof of that is already off. More about the tree house later. My heart was also warmed by a gesture of another old friend.

In 2005 I purchased the GMC pickup that is now still down in Mexico. At that time I had been driving a 1991 Chrysler LeBaron for some years. The LeBaron had no trade-in value. I sold it to a former acquaintance for $500.00. He soon lost faith in it and gave it away to another old friend of mine of whom I speak, who has tended to it magnificently and used it for a winter car for these five years hence.

This other friend, who goes by the sobriquet Spike, has given me the use of the old LeBaron for the duration of my stay. I have been buzzing around in it doing my errands in the United States of America, proud as punch.

Spike has a roommate called Pat, who restores old motorcycles. From 1967 through 1969 during my undergraduate days, I traveled around on a 1965 Honda 160 cc motorcycle. For years that motorcycle sat in a barn on my parents place. Pat expressed an interest in restoring it. I gave the damned thing to him. I have now had a chance to visit the motorcycle in its revivified state. It is breathtakingly beautiful again. Black and silver. A classic little motorcycle from those days of a brand and size owned by thousands of young people at that time.

Spike and Wings have warmed my heart. Revisiting these motor vehicles from the past has warmed my heart, too. I shall fly back to Mexico on May 1 with fond memories of this latter half of my visit to the United States of America, forced upon my by the expiration of my Driver's License in the spring of 2010.

Status Report

I am sitting in a coffee shop in Iowa, one of the United States of America, where I was able to log on. I did so 50 minutes ago. It has taken that long for my virus software, Windows Vista, and Java to download multiple updates involving multiple restarts of my laptop. All seems to be quiet now.

I stayed with my aged parents on the farm for three weeks, far too long for them and far too long for me. All is as well as can be expected there on the farm. Stared out the window with them for extended periods and saw some grandchildren. Enough said about that.

I have now changed venues to a friend's guest bedroom about 35 miles to the south. The friend operates under the nom de guerre of Wings. There has been business to transact. Primarily, I needed to get my Driver's License renewed. Secondarily, I needed to go through mail, tend to a few minor things that appeared therein, prepare and file my last income tax returns, get another year's supply of contact lenses, purchase some new jeans, finally close my post office box—little things like that.

Wings has been very kind to take me in. I have offered to demolish an old tree house on his acreage in return. The roof of that is already off. More about the tree house later. My heart was also warmed by a gesture of another old friend.

In 2005 I purchased the GMC pickup that is now still down in Mexico. At that time I had been driving a 1991 Chrysler LeBaron for some years. The LeBaron had no trade-in value. I sold it to a former acquaintance for $500.00. He soon lost faith in it and gave it away to the old friend of mine of whom I speak, who has tended to it magnificently and used it as a winter car for these five years hence.






This other friend, who goes by the sobriquet Spike, has given me the use of the old LeBaron for the duration of my stay. I have been buzzing around in it doing my errands in the United States of America, proud as punch.

Spike has a roommate called Pat, who restores old motorcycles. From 1967 through 1969 during my undergraduate days, I traveled around my university town on a 1965 Honda 160 cc motorcycle. For years that motorcycle sat in a barn on my parents' place. Pat expressed an interest in restoring it. I gave the damned thing to him. I have now had a chance to visit the motorcycle in its revivified state. It is breathtakingly beautiful again. Black and silver. A classic little motorcycle from those days of a make and size owned by thousands of young people at that time.




Spike and Wings have warmed my heart. Revisiting these motor vehicles from the past has warmed my heart, too. I shall fly back to Mexico on May 1 with fond memories of this latter half of my visit to the United States of America, forced upon me by the expiration of my Driver's License in the spring of 2010.

U.S.A. Report III

U.S.A. Report II

U.S.A. Report

In his comment on the April 2 entry, Bloggerboy asked for a report on the progress of the Tea Party Movement. Now that I have been here for a couple of weeks, I think their movement's current state of development can be summarized with some photos of their signs. Since it is so quiet here otherwise, I will be putting up some signage photos over the next several days. Here is the first:

Farmsteads

I have peppered this blog with pictures of Spanish colonial ruins in Mexico with which I obviously have a fascination. It therefore seems only fair to put up some pictures of ruins in the Midwestern United States of America.

I take my exercise here by walking “around the block,” meaning walking the country roads that track the Section lines of the Section in which the farm is located. This takes me by farmsteads that are now abandoned, farmsteads on what used to be family farms in my youth.

I spent a lot of time on this farm, sleeping over with the children in that farm house on occasion.

Later, when I was bigger and stronger, I left a lot of sweat in the hay mow of the barn that used to stand on this foundation mowing away hay bales as they were transported up into the mow through a large door up under the eaves on the end of the barn by the usual arrangement of a large hay fork operated with a block and pulley system mounted inside the barn.

This farmstead does not look too bad, but it was a beautiful layout in its day, the home of my best friend in the country. It housed what was called a Grade A milking operation with a large herd of Holstein cattle. Because of the strict inspection of Grade A milking operations, it was maintained in immaculate condition. The least bit of weathering of the buildings resulted in a new paint job. Immediately. Everything was clean. No other way to describe it. Clean.

In the foreground there used to be a smaller second house where the hired man, Tommy Scofield, and his wife lived. Tommy was an old Scotsman with a fantastic sense of humor in stark contrast to the grim, stern personality of the owner,his boss and my friend's father, who was eye-ball deep in hell fire and damnation religion.

Off in the distance there is Blodgett Cemetery where some of the people who inhabited these nearby farmsteads are now buried along with some of my relatives on my father's side. I used to sled on the hill adjoining this cemetery.




Blodgett Cemetery has been around for a long time.

None of this is intended to imply any sentimentality on my part at all. These locations are interesting curiosities to me. All things change. The only thing that endures is change.

The Farm

I have spent nearly all of my time during this hiatus at the farm with the old folks. These are some random snapshots in various directions. A very quiet place right now just before planting.



















With mum.

Stand By

I have returned to the United States of America to attend to some matters. No need for concern. Neither a death nor a marriage. Nothing of that tragic nature. I can report that it is the same United States of America that I left nearly a year ago, only more so.

I shall return here on May 2 or sooner if the spirit moves me. The spirit is not moving me right now.