AS I roll down my sleeve, that’s my stock parting line to the gals at Miriam Hospital. I was there this morning for the 90-day pre-check check. Will be back there tomorrow.
I’m anticipating a conversation with the doc, where he’s feeling the nodes in my armpits, around my collarbones, up and down my neck, under my jaw, and he says: Are you antagonizing this disease process?
Yes, sir, I am. Because when I can’t swing an ax anymore, that’s going to mean something worth knowing.
A pile of black locust I split the day before yesterday. Split a bunch of black oak the day before that. I’ll likely be back out there this afternoon.
The oak here. It’s a lovely wood, very dense. You get long-lasting coals from it and the smoke smells wonderful. Sometimes I’ll leave the damper closed when I open the door to throw in another stick. A puff of smoke perfumes the whole house.
Same for Norway Maple. I’ve burned quite a bit of it this winter.
One of the great pleasures of winter… keeping the home fires burning. Family time, too, that’s nice. We seem to get more of it in the winter.
Everything I know about family I learned from Pam. She’s made of love.
The family was over Sunday for a birthday brunch for Daughter #3. Pam made D3’s favorite treat, tiramisù. We’re still eating it.
This morning, Pam saw me staring out the window at this locust tree and said don’t even think about it. Because she knows I do.
I keep waiting for it to come down in a storm. It’s about ready. Looks pretty tired of holding up all that free firewood. The tree’s close to 4 feet in diameter.
It’s on a thin ribbon of state land that runs along a decommissioned rail right-of-way. Every time a storm fails to take the tree down I start thinking it’s probably my duty to go over there and liberate it from the jackboot of state oppression, move it into my woodpile as God intended.
It actually would be a hazardous fall, though. It’s growing out of a steep bank, about 40 degrees, a good 90 percent of its weight is to one side of the bole, it’s got rot where the hinge needs to be… yeah that’s a dangerous tree to cut into when the terrain is like standing on a 9-in-12 roof pitch.
Will root for that next storm…. Come on, baby!
Got a big LOL out of this yesterday, one of our sister strips at King Features Syndicate. It’s poking fun at my people.
While waiting for the blood lab to open at 8:30 this morning, I caught the latest Chronicle Chamber podcast, which is always fun. Tune in at the 72-minute mark if you want to see what the blokes have to say about the daily and Sunday newspaper strips.
Next week I want to get around to saying something about the why behind the new daily narrative in the Phantom strip; if only because I said I would in a reply to a reader last time.
Thanks for stopping by.
Tony DePaul, January 24, 2024, Cranston, Rhode Island, USA
