Smokin' Craftsman; Smokin' Jimmy

Well, the date has passed for puttin' up smoke without a permit, but we still had our share this weekend at the Lovestead. I don't know what's gonna happen if one more motorized vehicle starts emitting because Bill's reactions to such events could get a little expensive.

It all started Friday evening when, instead of going into town for our customary Friday night out, I decided I'd rather stay home. After all, it had been a busy week with book stuff, other eating out and company. With Saturday's Vanderford's event, I figured I'd better get the dandelion crop mowed before we'd have to ask Jim Taylor to come over with his tractor and hay swather.

So, I climbed on the Craftsman, started it up and heard little more than a sputter, even though it did move a few feet forward. I turned the key again, only to hear a click. I went to the garage, got the battery charger, and hooked it up. Then, I saw Bill headed my way from the house. His first question: was it out of gas? I felt kinda dumb cuz I hadn't even thought of that. Well, this dumb episode was short-lived. Plenty of gas but still plenty of clicks.

We went about our ways, figuring to come back to the mower when the battery charger had done its work. An hour later, I turned the key again, only to hear the all-too familiar clicks. This time, however, smoke started coming out the side of the engine. Bill walked up about that time, so I showed him with another key click. He told me it might be nice to quit trying, lest the engine caught on fire. He figured the problem was something to do with the ignition.

"Well, I'll go to town tomorrow and get you a new lawnmower," he announced. Bill has lived with me long enough to know that the major stresser of Marianne's life comes each spring when the grass grows faster than mushrooms, and the lawnmowers go on strike. It gets downright ugly around any Lovestead, and life isn't pleasant for Marianne or any family members. He's also seen me spend hours well into the night pushing the rattletrap mower around to make up for all lost time resulting from riding-mower breakdown.

He either feels sorry for me or feels sorry for himself, knowing that to prolong this situation, will prolong all family misery. So, at this point in our married life, I wasn't surprised when he said he'd head to town to get a new mower as soon as possible. He also vowed to get a new push mower as a backup for the rattletrap back-up. He added that we'd call the Sears repairman Tony, who's already made two visits this year, and we'd get that sick Craftsman fixed, so then we'd have a back-up for the the big mower and and back-up for the back-up rattletrap.

Sounded good to me.

So, after attending my reading at Vanderford's Saturday afternoon, Bill headed straight for Sears, summoned Ron Hunt and lucked out with a good price on a Craftsman rider someone had purchased, used twice and returned for a different model. He brought the mower home, fixed some lunch and sat back to watch a little TV, knowing he'd solved that problem. Later, I came home from the signing, grabbed a quick bite and told him I was headed to the Flower Farm (wonderful, wonderful place on East Selle Road) to get flowers for Mother.

I found a nice pot of petunias and enjoyed the drive back through springtime grandeur of the gorgeous Selle Valley. Parking in front of the garage, I grabbed the pot and headed for the garage door. Suddenly, something out of the corner of my eye caused me to turn around. That something was clouds of blue smoke billowing out of the Jimmy hood, sort of as if the car had taken a long drag off a good ol' stogie and French inhaled.

The clouds were growing. I ran inside and summoned Bill who may have been enjoying a moment of bliss in the bathroom. Well, his bliss ended when he saw that car outside still smokin' like a steam engine. He lifted the hood, while I grabbed all valuables from the seats. He couldn't figure out the origin of the smoke, but, in his customary calm manner, he said, "We'll take it in Monday, and I'll see about getting you a new car."

Paranoia set in as we stood there trying to analyze the situation of one more smoking engine.

"I wonder if someone's coming here doing something to our stuff," I suggested.

"No, that's not it," he said. "This is something like what it did when I took it to Cottonwood in February, and the mechanics there weren't too sure that they had fixed the problem." At that time, Bill had been going up the Winchester Hill and saw clouds of blue smoke coming out the rear end. He figures there's a major oil leak somewhere, and he figures with 160,000 miles on the Jimmy, it's more cost effective to get a new car.

I've been a bit leary about going near any motorized vehicles since then, but, that lawn and those dandelions needed some action. So far, the new mower has cooperated and remains smoke-free. In a couple of days, the old mower will be fixed, and it will take on its new assignment as a back-up. Hopefully, the rattletrap back-up can get some rest, and I can find some thicker wire to keep its handlebars a bit more stable.

Now, I'm also wondering if Bill's planning to get back-up for the new car that's going to replace the smoking Jimmy. I think I'm going to work really hard on practicing with Casey Horse and the Amish cart; maybe we can save some money.