farmdoc's blog post number 658

Closure. Nowadays it’s fashionable for a relative to acknowledge it when a missing person’s body is found, or when a murderer’s convicted. Thankfully I’ve never been the relative in either of those situations. And I hope upon hope I never will be. But if the relevant definition of ‘closure’ is ‘the state of being closed’, then I can’t believe that all will be bright and rosy ever after the moment when the body’s found or the murderer’s convicted. Be this as it may, in my boring and safe life there have been two recent moments of closure:

The first one occurred last Wednesday when Lars, a local jack-of-all-trades replaced the smashed back porch downpost and a rainwater downpipe [1]. Lars is a lovely man, and as the photograph shows, he did a beautiful job. All the job needs now is for me to paint the post and pipe.

The second one occurred yesterday when our new bridge replacement job [2, 3, 4, 5, 6] was finished by our neighbour Todd. He too is a lovely man, and as the photograph shows, he did a beautiful job. All the job needs now is for me to remove the sawn-off wood pieces.

P.S. To avoid hitting the back porch downpost and a rainwater downpipe again, from now on I’m backing the Triton in to the garage.

farmdoc's blog post number 655

It was 1:30 a.m. last Monday morning – with February only 1½ hours old – when the fire call came. Sweetheart Vivienne blogged here that last Sunday evening the smoke was thick at our place. So it shouldn’t have surprised me when the call came. But I was in such a deep sleep. I awoke with a start, but I was dopey whilst I pulled on my clothes. As I left our bedroom Sweetheart Vivienne implored me to drive carefully. I think I must’ve been in some twilight zone – not fully awake, yet somehow adrenaline-charged at the prospect of fighting a bushfire I knew little about but which I thought was major and close. I hopped up into the Triton’s cab, and reversed out of the carport. Then – crash. Instantly I became fully awake as I realised I’d backed into – and broken – our back porch downpost and a rainwater downpipe attached to it. Oh dear. I was distraught. Mad at myself. How could I have done such a thing? But, strangely, not inconsolable. Like most accidents, this one was multi-causal. And a key cause was that the Triton is much longer than the Peugeot. Anyway I felt in no fit state to be on a fireground, so I didn’t attend that call. (My chance at the fire came late afternoon the same day.) Sweetheart Vivienne was superb, as usual: sympathetic, comforting, loving. I am so very blessed that I’m married to her. P.S. The Triton was undamaged. Not even a scratch.