Dearest Blog Reader.
I hope that this finds you doing well. I particularly hope
that your sump pump is in good working order. Three inches of rain over
night on the heals of 8 inches of
melting snow all with a partially frozen ground chaser and one is going to have
water problems. It is especially exacerbated here in the country. One thinks of
flooding in the valley down by the creek. In central Indiana farm country there
is nary a hill or a low valley, yet all of our friends were sitting in church Sunday
morning with dark circles under their eyes and the harried look of a couple
with colicky newborns. These are homeowners in the suburbs, or a row of houses
on the edge of a 200 acre field. These houses
were built on plots that farmers sold in an effort continue the farming habit
before the EPA’s ethanol habit "drove" corn prices to sustainable levels.
The trouble with the "build
in the cornfield" plan is that on the
flat lands the original farm owner picked the only “high spot” to build the farmstead. I have noticed this on my
bike riding excursions. When not being chased by assassin deer, every time that
I pass the mailbox of an old farmstead, it is at the crest of a hill; not much
of a hill, mind you. The road may only rise a foot or so. But raise it does. I
go slower before the mailbox and a little faster after the mailbox. So the
farmer kept the high ground for himself, leaving the lower ground for those
city slickers. Consequently, early this week the country side was covered with
ponds about 4 inches deep. Acres and acres were under water. Water that was looking for places to congregate.
Like Garth Brooks, the rain had friends in low places like your crawl space,
basements, and sump pump pits.
In the country we are tuned to the rhythms of nature. We are
able to do things on our own; DIY in the city vernacular. City slickers have
stores and books for the DIY’er. Blogs exist for the person who wants to read
for themselves how to DIY. I do not suggest you stray from the contents of this
fine blog. So trust me, those kinds of
blogs are out there.
I was watching football and pondering about some
self improvement DIY this past weekend. That is correct. It was time for my once every six week hair
cut. In an effort to become more efficient with my time management skills, I
made a pact with myself many years ago to never again comb my hair. First off, I have never
trusted the word comb. “Hooked on phonics” let me down in this instance. It is
the same reason that I am not a bomber. Who ever heard of a silent “b”? With the philosophical reticence to hair
combing, I make it a point to have a hair cut that is short every six weeks.
The last week gets a little dicey; especially in the winter with sock hats and
static electricity making my hair style a little wonky.
So it was time to get a hair cut again. I decided on my
optimistic winter haircut style this time. The optimistic winter hair cut is
when I sit down and tell my barber to put on the ¼ inch guard on the clippers.
That’s right I eschewed the 3/8 guard. “Whoa,” my barber gasped. “Living life
just a bit recklessly aren’t you, Roger.”
"Still plenty of cold weather left."
I have a hope that spring is just around the corner. I hope that a week of a draft on my head will be rewarded by
crocus’, daffodils, and skunk road kill just around the corner.
This sudden shift in style threw my barber off. I am a man
of 2 hair styles; 3/8 inch buzz cut in the fall and winter, ¼ inch spring and
summer. My style is practical and always fitting with the season. Plus, you
don’t have to comb your hair when it is that short. My barber was shaken. We
have been together for a long time. For 23 years, I have gone to the same
barber. The venue has changed from time to time. As times got better, they
moved up. The digs became a little better. But for 23 years, I have gotten out
the clippers, sat down by the kitchen table under the big overhead light and
asked Bev for a hair cut.
This Sharritt family ritual started 23 years ago as a cost
cutting measure. As cost cutting measures go it is modest but has added up.
Let’s say you are going cheap. Which by definition, I am. I could get a $10 haircut plus $2.00 tip every six
weeks or 8.6666666 times a year for 23 years. That’s 12*8.66666666 * 23. Take
the 2, add the 86, carry the 4 and you get . .
. $2391.82; not bad for a $30 clipper investment. It won’t exactly support my gambling habit, but at the time it permitted the daily paper, which was
important.
When times get tight the
newspapers, radio, grand parents, all have some sort of money saving advice. I am obviously a long term adherent to some of
this sage advice. My extra $2361.82 jangling around in my pocket is testament to
my fortitude. In spite of that, I am somewhat skeptical of money saving
measures. I mean once you start saving money cutting your own hair, how can you
stop. When will times get good enough to drop in at the local shop for some
comradey and a little off the top?
It strikes me that we had better figure
it out pretty soon. As our representatives, that we just elected, go off to vote
to allow $17,000,000,000 in debt, it makes me wonder if our sump pump is big enough
to bail us out of this one.
Take care.
Roger
No comments:
Post a Comment