Best Laid Plans

Or the Midas touch in reverse.  Everything I touch is turning into something other than gold.

What did I do to deserve this?  Early in the week my tractor went down, just deader than the preverbal door nail…what is a dead door nail exactly?  I can’t answer the question because my iffy internet is down…and back up…and down again.  Wait it is back…thank you William Shakespeare.  “A nail driven into a door that has been clenched or bent and therefore unlikely to be resurrected for further use.” I’m still a bit confused.

I’ve tried jumping the tractor but that hasn’t worked…nor has checking the battery, jiggling wires, or saying prayers to the gods of John Deere tractors and burning a cigar in hopes of evoking good Ju Ju.  I’m almost sure it is a neutral safety switch but repairing it is beyond me.  Anything beyond “shakin’ wars” is beyond me.  Can you shoot a tractor and put it out of its misery?

Probably not.  I backed the truck into it because it died where I don’t usually park it.  You guessed it.  No damage to the tractor.  My bumper however is scarred for life as am I since my bride saw it. I tried to play dumb, an easy task, until she saw the green paint. She watches too many Crossing Jordan and Rizzoli and Isles reruns.

This is the time of year I really need my tractor.  I can hear the grass growing and pretty much see the kudzu creeping toward my garden.  It is hard to run the tiller or bush hog without it.  I don’t mind picking up a hoe, but I’ve got too much to cut for a sling blade and I’m really afraid to try and crank my weed eater.

I grew up with big ole John Deere tractors. They truly ran like a deer. So did the first two I owned. This one is the third and it is not a charm. I’m thinking about going orange with a Kubota after I shoot the green one.

In the same week I lost the mouse pointer on my laptop which makes copying and pasting impossible for fat, clumsy fingers.  Writing has become interesting but as you can read, not impossible. 

Three sessions with “The Geek Squad” have failed to find my disappearing mouse pointer.  The little arrow is visible and then it isn’t just like a really good magic trick. Except good magic tricks usually involve the reappearance of what disappeared.  Maybe David Copperfield can help me or at least find a quarter behind my ear.

I need to cut grass, but the pipeline cyber-attack has caused gasoline supplies to dry up. The African Sahel is less dry. We are “sun high in the sky over parched ground dry”. My friends and neighbors filling up shopping bags and milk jugs, blowing their cars up. Shopping bags? Really? Eventually there will be gasoline enough to go buy more toilet paper. I see that Chick-Fil-A is running short on sauce. Quick! Go stock up and leave the gasoline alone. 

I had enough gasoline to put in one mower so I of course, riding my wave of frustration, picked the wrong one. I picked the riding mower with the flat tire…a tire I can’t get to inflate because it has pulled away from the rim.  I even tried spraying starter fluid and igniting it. I did not burn anything or lose a body part but the tire is still flat.

A tire I can’t change unless I use the tractor that isn’t running to pick it up or dig a hole under it for a jack to fit.  Maybe I can conjure up old Archimedes to help me lever the front end up.  No, I’m on a downhill drag. I’m gonna wait till Monday.

I’m afraid to attempt to crank or turn on anything else.  The Midas touch in reverse.  Nothing bright and shiny for my troubles just piles of ooey gooey brown smelly stuff.

I’m thinking I should take a break from frustration to go for a walk…maybe not, if I break something else it might be a limb.  Can I hurt myself sitting in my recliner? I’m going for a walk, I’ll check back if I’m not in the hospital.