Streaming detours

Lots on my mind today, so I'm just gonna stream it this morning and dribble out bits of my conscious self.  Self is pretty conscious right now cuz the latte is kicking in, so look out.  

Streaming seems appropriate today too cuz we're gonna get wet again.  And, some local anglers are excited cuz a bunch more streams are opening first thing in the morning.

Bill's ready to beat the sun-up tomorrow morning and drive down to Cocolalla Creek for his annual opening day of fly fishing.  I hope he remembers his rod this time.  

I saw on Facebook that some family members are camping this weekend over in Washington.  I heard that Annie's going to Forks, WA.  

Now, if you're looking for a weekend of rain and vampires, that's the place to be.  We were in Forks back in the early '80s when President Reagan got shot.  In fact, we were driving down the main drag, not looking for vampires back in those days,  when we first heard the news on the radio.

Since it was spring vacation, and I was grouchy because all we had encountered was rain in the rain forest, we pulled into a motel early that day and watched the news flashes about the attempted assassination.  The rain continued, as it did throughout that entire vacation.

Seems that rain likes to come along for Memorial Day weekend.  My sisters are at their annual Eastern Washington Arabian Show in Spokane.  I'm guessing this will be the ultimate test for their travel trailer in providing them a dry place to get out of the elements.  

When it's raining and cold, that arena at Interstate Fairgrounds is about the coldest place around, so I'm sure the folks at the horse show will be well bundled.  

I've told rototiller tales this week.  The story has an ending or at least an anti-climax.  Yesterday I stopped by Co-Op to get some nylon rope for a starter cord.  That's when this small-engine repair novitiate learned that stores actually SELL starter cords.  

So, I asked for some free advice on what might be going wrong with my assembly process.  The clerk finally said, "Just bring in the part and we'll install it for you."  That made me feel good.

Later, after a rollicking good time at the museum where I learned that movie theaters will stiff you if you bring in your own dark chocolate to nibble on while your husband munches on his $10 popcorn and $5 beverage, I came home to work some more on my starter cord.

There were some actual directions on the package, so I picked up a few tips on things I may have done wrong with the other three attempts to fix the damn thing.  

Still, when I got it installed as best a person can while holding on to a metal spring just faunching at the bit to take off into the air and slap you in the face, I could get only about eight inches of the cord to recoil back into the housing.

I tried a couple of other tactics,  but the spring kept getting the best of my klutzy hands and tempting my tongue to say bad things.  So, I calmly put it on the work bench and left the premises to come back at a better time.  

As I walked out of the shop, my brother Kevin pulled into the driveway.  He wondered where I'd been.  I showed him my black hands, indicating I'd been hard at work as a failing fix-it lady.  We talked inside for a while.  Then, I got the nerve to ask him if he'd look at my cord.

He did, and within five minutes, his vast knowledge of fixing chainsaw starter cords kicked in.  I now have a rototiller starter cord that recoils and that pesky adversarial spring is stuffed back where it belongs, ready to do its job.  

Now, if the rain would stop, I could take that rototiller back to the big garden and do a final touch-up before planting the rest of the rows.  Tomatoes, more potatoes, more corn,  cukes and some more beans need to go into the ground in the next few days.  

While at the museum yesterday, Gary Pietsch, who faithfully reads my column but doesn't do Facebook where he would know that his son Chris won a prestigious Northwest photojournalism award,  asked me if I ever figured out  what or who stole the corn cob from my fenced-in garden.

I reported to Gary, after telling him that if he'd join Facebook, he'd know was his son is up to, that another faithful reader, Judy in Seattle, told me that she's seen crows bring things like chicken parts to her birth bath to wash before dining on them.

So, it could be my corn cob is floating around in someone's bird bath somewhere in this Selle Valley or maybe even in Seattle.  

If they happen to find the cob and don't want to return it, I'll happily give them my blessing to flip off a few of those seeds, stick 'em in the ground and watch the corn grow. 

I liked last year's corn so much that I saved those two cobs so we could enjoy the flavor again this year.  So, I can guarantee to the new corn-cob recipient, be it crow or human,  some tasty eating this summer.

Again, the clouds are not dropping any rain as yet today, so I'm gonna head on out and see what or who has played havoc with my gardening efforts overnight.  Surely something has gone wrong. 

Happy Friday.