Hot Glue Success
Varies
Most of the grass in my yard
is Bermuda and dead from last year’s first killing frost. The new growth
hasn’t grown to a point where it needs to be mown. However, there’s
a variety of fescue that grows under the maple and the south oak in my front
yard that almost dies back in the heat of summer but then thrives in the
winter. The fescue came in a sack of seeds that the label stated were suitable
for shady areas, and after seeding the bare spots beneath the trees a few
years ago, I have to admit there’s now grass where there was none before.
Had I known, the stuff grew during the winter months, I might have shopped
for a specific seed, but I didn’t, and it doesn’t bother me enough
to want to dig it up and start over. So, each spring, I watch it grow bright
and green and tall (about eight inches), until I can’t stand it, then
I mow it.
Last Saturday was the first cutting I’ve done this year, after having
hot-glued parts of my John Deere together last fall. I had accidentally dropped
the hood while using a leaf blower to blow the dust off the engine. That
resulted in almost the entire hood falling apart. The bumper had suffered
severe damage earlier and wasn’t in place at the time of the hood
catastrophe.
After assessing Sarah’s yard and mine and seeing hers as needing more
attention than my own (it’s weedier), I decided to cut and edge her
yard first. I don’t believe I gave much thought to the shaky condition
of my lawnmower as I brushed beside cedar limbs and hedges, but after finishing
for the day, I found a couple of sections of the hood that need attention,
and I lost a piece of the bumper, which may account for the momentary sound
I heard of something being shredded that wasn’t grass or weeds.
Before edging Sarah’s yard, I made sure my line-trimmer was working
properly at my house and used it to knock back some of the weeds in my front
flower bed. Satisfied that I had enough gas and line in the trimmer, I drove
the Deere back to Sarah’s and edged most of the areas and borders that
required line-trimming.
Once back at home, I used the trimmer in the remaining flower beds in front
of my house and was about to call it a day, when the bright green fescue
caught my eye.
"Maybe, I’ll just run the mower over the front lawn," I thought. "That
won’t take long."
With the mower deck set at two inches, I quickly topped the dead grass as
well as the fescue.
"I’d better cut that fescue a little lower; else I’ll have to cut
it again in another week. With the days getting warmer, it’ll grow like
crazy," I reasoned.
After dropping the deck another half-inch, I circled the two trees that have
fescue around them. I was almost done when something cold brushed my left
arm. I was under the oak tree at the time, and all I could think of happening
was that a snake had fallen from a tree limb and grazed my arm. I had no
sooner considered the snake idea, when I felt something cold again. I was
about to bail off the mower when I realized one of my lawn sprinkler zones
was on and I was getting pelted with pulses of water. There are only two
ways for the sprinklers to suddenly come on. The first is by automatic or
manual activation from a control panel inside the garage. The second way
involves a broken valve.
While I was getting wetter by the second, I knew I must have broken a valve.
I had cut the grass last year at a lower setting than I was using when the
deck struck the valve, so either the tree roots had pushed the valve higher
above ground, or the angle of the deck, while I was turning, was great enough
to snap the upper portion of the valve and trigger the sprinkler zone.
Understanding what had happened was not as important at the time as figuring
how to stop the flow of water. A broken valve doesn’t respond to a control
panel and having experienced a similar problem three years ago, I knew the
only solution would be in cutting off the water at the meter.
Adam’s helpmate was Eve. Mine is Barbara Anne. I found her in the kitchen
and asked her to help her mate. I have a tool that is fashioned specifically
for turning off water at a meter, but it only fits one of the two meters.
Fortunately, it fit the one I needed it to fit. But, I didn’t know that
until I had practically dug up the meter trying to locate the water valve.
There was about six inches of dirt and sand covering the meter, and because
I couldn’t remember which side of the meter the valve was on, I wasted
a lot of time digging on the wrong side. Thankfully, Barbara brought a flashlight
to shine into the abyss while I struggled with the dirt removal.
Darkness was falling fast, a charcoal fire needed to be started in order
to grill our supper, and I needed something in the way of a fast fix for
the broken valve. My container of all-purpose cement for plastic pipe was
inside my tool box, but it had dried up. My best hope, short of calling a
plumber, was hot glue.
"If I shut off the valve manually and can get the hole dried out, then hot
glue may solve the problem. But, I’ll need some sort of plastic to cement
to the top of the valve," I thought.
I started the charcoal fire while the glue gun was heating up. I made hamburger
patties at Jason’s house, which is on a separate water meter, in order
to have a place to wash my hands. Right before putting the steaks and burgers
on the grill, I dried out the top of the broken valve, pumped it full of
hot glue, and closed the hole with the mouth of a plastic spoon (hey, it
worked).
I didn’t turn the water back on until after supper, but the valve sealed
with hot glue appeared to be holding. I checked it a few more times before
going to bed, and it was okay. In fact it’s still okay.
Hot glue won’t work for every fix-up around the house and garden, but
it has a place of service for the inventive and insightful handyman. If my
mower holds together for a few more months and we don’t have a dry summer,
I may be able to save enough to pay for the repairs I really need.
Easter Voice
Sarah Explains
For several years after Mama died, I made it a practice to take flowers to
her grave for Easter. Somewhere along the way in my childhood, I remember
her telling me how sad it was for graves not to have flowers at Easter. I
do not remember Mama taking flowers to the graves of her loved ones more
than once or twice, but it was something she thought ought to be done. Perhaps
I was influenced by the many Sunday mornings in Sunday School at West Heights
when I scanned the cemetery, noting that few graves had flowers on them.
I used to spend hours preparing Easter lilies for Mama’s grave. It was
always hard to come up with the money to buy the best silk lilies and container
because money was scarce in those days. I often thought how foolish Daddy
would think I was for spending money on flowers for the dead that I could
be spending on my children. Nevertheless, I was driven to do this small thing
for Mama.
I would get up around 5:30 on Easter morning and drive from Ecru to the cemetery
at West Heights so that I could have the flowers on her grave and be gone
before the church had its sunrise service. I did not want to place the flowers
on the grave the day before because rain or wind during the night would whip
the arrangement and spoil the effect on Easter Sunday. After a few moments
of meditation at the grave, I would stop by McDonald’s to pick up breakfast
for the kids and then drive back to Ecru.
The last Easter I performed this ritual started out like all the others.
Once I left Ecru, I made a few changes. This particular morning I turned
on the radio as I drove to Pontotoc. I never have the radio on in the car
because it makes me nervous. It was a gray, misty, overcast morning, and
I remember singing along with "The Holy City," which has been one of my favorite
Easter songs. I always start crying at the part which goes, "All who would
might enter in, and none would be denied." I usually go right on crying to
the end of the song. I was pretty much cried out by the time I drove into
the church parking lot.
It had stormed the night before, and flowers were blown all across the cemetery.
As I made my way to the family plot on the back of the cemetery, I wondered
if the first Easter had been bleak and overcast like this particular morning.
I anchored the container in front of the gravestone and stood back to assess
my handiwork. I said, "Well, Frannie, you would be proud because you have
the prettiest flowers in the cemetery today." As I turned and began my way
back to the car, I distinctly heard a masculine voice say in conversational
tone, "Why seek ye the living among the dead?"
That voice stopped me in my tracks. No one else was in the cemetery. I know
because I scanned the entire area, including the parking lot. I must confess
that since I had heard that same voice a few times before, I did not really
expect anyone to be around. I believe it was the Lord who spoke to me that
morning. Others smile condescendingly when I share this story with them.
Very few believe that I heard anything other than my own thoughts. After
all, the verse of Scripture is well known and quoted at almost every Easter
service. It really does not matter what others think, I know what I experienced.
The Lord does not speak to me as much as He seems to speak to others, but
when He does speak to me I listen. For so much of my life, I have found the
Lord to be silent. People who know me well tell me that I never quit talking
long enough to hear a response. I, however, have always thought that maybe
He wanted me to work out some things on my own.
I have begged for answers and guidance and heard nothing. I have spent countless
hours reading Scripture for the answers and still not known the right thing
to do. Sometimes, I must confess, I have ranted and raved and demanded answers
like a petulant child. Small wonder I did not hear anything. Perhaps it is
in those periods of silence that I have had to do the most soul-searching,
and thus have grown spiritually through reflection and introspection. Those
times I recognized His voice, however, I tried to heed His direction.
All the way back home that morning, I contemplated how silly it was to make
such a ritual out of putting flowers on Mama’s grave at Easter. As a
Christian, I knew my mother was not in that grave. What possible purpose
would it serve to place flowers on a grave that held only the decaying flesh,
not the spirit, of the person I loved?
So, I have never gone back to the cemetery. I suppose at some point I may
have to attend graveside services there for a loved one, but I will not be
placing flowers on Mama’s grave for a memorial. There are far better
ways to honor her memory. I have it on the best Authority that I should not
be seeking some memory of her in the cemetery.
By Sarah Carter Brown
Motel
Mystery What's That Noise
I was back in Pearl, MS, this week, on a project that will require my attention
for a couple of more weeks at least. I elected to spend Wednesday night at
the Comfort Inn, where I had been recognized as a special guest just last
week. Vacancies were scarce, and I had to accept one of their suites, as
all the regular rooms were reserved. I think I was checked in by the owner/
manager, Mr. Patel, and I believe he gave me a shopworn key/card to open
my room.
I tried to open the door several times before giving up and driving back
to the office. This time I asked for two keys, just in case there was still
an access problem. Happily, I was able to open the door on my first attempt
with a new card. But no sooner had I dropped my luggage on the bed than I
became aware of a loud buzzing noise.
"There’s no way I’m gonna’ try to sleep with that noise,"
I thought.
At first, I presumed the refrigerator was the source of the racket, but it
wasn’t. I checked the clock radio, and the sound wasn’t coming
from there, either. I even turned off lights to see if that made a difference.
It didn’t. Finally, I phoned the front desk and described my problem.
"Do you still hear the noise?" the clerk asked.
"Yes!"
A maintenance man arrived about five minutes later. He checked all the areas
I had checked, plus he went into the adjacent rooms looking for the source
of the buzzing.
Finally, he said, "I think it’s coming from the bed."
After further investigation he pointed to my luggage and said, "It’s
something in here."
Once I touched my bag, I sensed the vibrations and had a pretty good idea
of the source of the mysterious noise. Though, I had walked by my luggage
several times, I couldn’t pinpoint the location of the sound. And, neither
could the maintenance man, until he narrowed down the possibilities.
"I’ve got an electric razor in here," I shared, as I unzipped the bag.
"I can’t believe I had to call someone to help me find a noise that
was in my bag all the time."
He didn’t seem to mind the interruption and, in his investigations,
did discover a light in the bathroom needed replacing, one of those screw-in
fluorescents that was cracking and popping as though it were about to short
out.
When I dug into the shaving kit inside my luggage, I found the noisemaker
was actually my beard and mustache trimmer, and not my electric razor.
Apparently, one of the contents of my shaving kit shifted when I sat the
bag on the bed and it slid the power switch to the on position.
"It’s my beard trimmer," I stated holding it for him to see and turning
it off, simultaneously.
As he was leaving, I apologized again for calling him unnecessarily and thanked
him for helping locate the noise.
Bodock Beau Late
Night Humor
Politicians are often said to be full of it, and good political humor often
masks the stench we might otherwise experience. Late night stars, Letterman
and Leno provided these comments.
David Letterman:Top Things Overheard During George W. Bush's Trip
To Cancun":
-
"Feels great to get away after three straight weeks of work";
-
"As President of the United States, I pledge to do whatever's necessary to
help the Cancunians!";
-
"Couldn't we have stayed home and gone to Chi-Chi's?";
-
"Cozumel? Isn't that the chick I made Secretary of State?";
-
"When do I get to meet Zorro?";
-
"I'll have a non-alcoholic pina colada...just kidding. Juice me up, Pepe!";
-
"Once you get a little buzz going, my poll numbers don't look so bad."
Jay Leno: According to the latest statistics there are now eleven
million illegal immigrants in the United States. Here's the part that surprised
me, over half of them are on the Yankee pitching staff.
President Bush [was] down in Mexico [last week]. He stepped off Air Force
One, looked around and said, "Wow, you've got a big problem with Mexican
immigrants down here too!"
While President Bush was down there he spoke about the immigration problem.
To give you an idea how out of hand our immigration policy is there were
800 more people on the plane coming home than when he flew over there.
In France, rioters looted stores. Actually to be politically correct you
cannot call them looters anymore. You now have to call them "undocumented
shoppers."
The cover story of this week's Time magazine is about global warming.
It's a pretty frightening story. They say if current warming trends continue,
by the year 2015, Hillary Clinton may actually thaw out. ... [Time
says] global warming is 33% worse than we thought. Which means that Al Gore
is one third more annoying than we thought.
Al Gore turned 58-years-old over the weekend. His party was so boring that
everyone left before they sang him Happy Birthday.
The staff of RRN wishes each and every reader a blessed Easter.
Copyright © 2000 - 2006 RRN
Online.
