Flaming Snowblower Update

 So, we found out why our snowblower caught fire, and I think you'll find it ironic.

First of all, I was the only one who ever operated the snowblower. It's important to know that Emily shares none of the blame. It's also important to know that I did not attempt to fix it, so the self-repair restraining order was not violated. Emily, on the other hand, downloaded the user manual (thus bypassing my confused filing system), brought out the variable speed drill I bought for her birthday (I still have a scar), and dug right in.


 As with our vacuum cleaner, the snowblower's belt can be reached through a panel. (My belt can be reached beneath the result of way too many cans of Mountain Dew.) I was actually able to put a new belt on the vacuum cleaner once, and it only took me three days. I figured in this case it had to be either the belt or the motor. When I realized the belt was on the opposite side of where most of the smoke came out, I got a bad feeling.

But we immediately saw the problem. Snow had gotten into the belt/pulley area, then melted a little, then froze solid, and the entire space was now packed with ice. We had to dig it out, then let the thing finish melting and dry off for a day.


 It got a lot of snow on it when I used it, but in it?

In case any of you are as slow as I was: Our snowblower was killed BY SNOW.

But the belt was just fine. So after double checking it, we closed the panel back up, I plugged it in (outside), and pushed the button. It ran for three seconds and died, then smoke started coming out.

Two days later I hurt my back while using a snow shovel.

So I wrote this--again, perhaps ironically--with ice on my back, but my neighbor promised he'd take care of the snow removal. He has a normal sized, gas engine powered snowblower, but it still doesn't sit right by me. I want to do stuff myself! But sometimes, I suppose, I have to admit I can't anymore.

Which doesn't mean I'm not in the market for a new snowblower. Also, as of November the lawn mower is working just fine.

At least, it was. 

 

 

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Remember: Every book you buy relieves my back pain.

 

Working Through Retirement Laziness

 A lot of people asked what I planned to do after retirement.

Work, of course.

I'm taking early social security, and I also have a nice retirement benefit after 35 years, but between the two I'll still be making far less than I did on the job. That's okay, because I've always planned to work until I drop--I just wanted to do the work that, well, I wanted to do.

And so, there's the writing thing. But that doesn't mean I don't want to have some fun ... or take it easy, and the two aren't always the same thing.

I tried an air show at Pokagon State Park, but everyone wanted to get high.


 Have you seen all those ads about retired people doing amazing things? Diving into pools, hiking the Appalachian Trail, taking the grandkids to Disneyland, being a roadie for The Rolling Stones ...

I've noticed a lot of those ads are from drug companies that medicate you into being able to do those amazing things. "Don't forget the side effects for Neweryu, the little chartreuse pill: forgetfulness, suicidal thoughts, spontaneous limb separation, anal leakage ... and don't take if you're allergic to Neweryu, or its ingredients that we haven't told you about. Neweryu, for a newer you!"

 I'd be satisfied to be able to get out of bed without alerting the neighbors. "Hear that cracking, popping, groaning sound next door? Mark got up to mow his lawn."

As we drove through central Indiana a retirement activity hit me: I could restore tanks!
 

It used to take two hours to mow my lawn. Now it takes two days and five bottles of Gatorade.

What do the doctors say? "Eat right and exercise, get some fresh air!"

Fresh air? When Emily and I go to the park we don't use sunblock; we smear Icy Hot over ourselves. And not in a sexy way.

Actually, we use Biofreeze, which we get from our chiropractor. I'll have to stock up, because in a few years I'll be on Medicare, and I'm told they don't cover routine chiropractic treatment. Worse case scenario, if the pain gets too bad, somewhere back in the pantry there's a half bottle of rum from New Years Eve, 2011.

But let's go back to the doctors, who want me to exercise to cure the fact that I can't exercise. "Just walk a little way, to start." Well, what do you think I've been doing? The kitchen's a little way. On a related note, as for eating right--to heck with that. I'm going for steaks and chocolate. I don't know how many meals I have left; why pollute them with spinach and lettuce?

It's a great historic bridge, but ... where are the benches?
 

So yeah, I'm leaning toward taking it easy, more than gallivanting. Do people still gallivant? Probably not, but I have no desire to take polka lessons, or play pickleball.  Pickleball is just anther sport to make me look foolish as my paddle/racket/stick thing swishes through the air for a clean miss.

But it could be worse. I'm trading two jobs in which I sat in a chair at a keyboard for one job in which I sit in a chair and keyboard, and that one is way less stressful.  Less stress helps a lot. So if you see someone on the Appalachian Trail who looks like me ...

It's not me. 

 

 

Support my retirement! Find our books here:

 

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·        Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter

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Remember: Every time an author retires, a typewriter gets it wings.

 

 

Pet Sitting, and Dogs in General

 I'm going to try to blog twice a week from now on: Some social media gurus think that's the optimum amount to stay visible without drowning in a sea of internet. I'm thinking a shorter blog midweek, maybe something about history, what with the 250th anniversary of the USA coming up.

Or pet pictures.

This is Indiana Jones, who goes by Indy for calling time reasons. He's my oldest daughter's dog--we pet-sat for him while she was out of town for a few days. He's a bit of a face licker, and Heaven help you if he gets through the door without a leash, but he's also very cuddly. Also, as we all know, happiness is a warm puppy, especially in winter. (He's not 2 yet, so close enough to puppy.) Unlike our beloved dog Beowulf, he's happy to be a foot (or side) warmer in bed all night.

Beowulf had a job and he knew it: Protect his humans, and guard his home. He rarely stayed in one place for longer than half an hour before he set off on patrol. Indy is way more laid back, although he'll let you know if he hears someone coming.

If I look a little rough in this photo, I was going through some back pain issues at the time. I doubt Indy would have let me put him on the couch and press my lower back against him for heat, but this time of year you can always find ice.

I looked a little better last time we took care of him.

Indy's very lovable, but generally Emily and I prefer larger dogs. Beowulf was big, and he could look a lot bigger when you didn't notice him coming. The dog I wrote into We Love Trouble is based on Beowulf, but is all black, much bigger, and has, shall we say, an unusual brain. (You haven't missed it--that novel is still in the submission process.)

We Love Trouble is a humorous murder mystery with ghosts in it--but the ghosts aren't directly involved in the murder. We'll see if that idea gets any bites.
 

 

Our books aren’t as cuddly as a warm puppy, but they’re just as entertaining and don’t have to go out to potty.

 

·        Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO

·        Barnes & Noble:  https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

·        Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter

·        Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/

·        Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/

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Remember: Authors with pets depend on book sales for food. And bones.