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Good morning everyone!
Today’s quote is from a scientist: “Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.”
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Identity theft
Today’s Quote: Thomas Alva Edison
I’m just forewarning you - if anyone refers to today as the “Ides of April” (it’s NOT), I may have to post something worthy of a scepter bonk.
Have you ever watched the TV show “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?”? I think there’s a lot wrong with that show, and I wrote a blog post about it. Click on my name if you want to see what I wrote. Share your own opinion of the show there (or here).
Just for the record, this was the origin of the term “Drill Bits.” It was posted by SteveG last week in the thread on “Expelled.” Just thought I’d share it since there was some speculation on a thread yesterday about what a Drill Bit actually is and what the qualifications are to be one. Perhaps Drill, himself, could publish a statement of the requirements and the process to apply. Will our meetings be in his barn?
“For some reason though, it is important for Drill and his little Drill Bits to believe that there is some conspiracy against religious-minded scientists.”
I know that SteveG didn’t mean it as a compliment, but I think we can take the phrase and make it ours.
I was wondering about the origin of Drill Bits, and I think SteveG came up with something clever. Of course, it wasn’t a liberal political idea, so it has some merit.
Happy Ides of April everyone!
This is a test, of course, of either Mommy’s self-control or Kristin’s adroitness with the scepter. And either way the tax man cometh, so we all need a little levity or a real good fight:)
What is an Ide anyway?
I think anyone is a Drillbit if they laugh out loud and lose all sense of what the thread was originally about after they read Drill’s posts.
Maybe there is a 12 step program out there, but I confess I am a Drillbit.
Did everyone get you tax forms out? I put the last of mine in the mail last night.
We e-filed on Saturday and finished my MiL’s taxes late last night.
I remember a few years, when we were both working (pre-kids) and way too busy, scrambling to file the extension form before the Portland post office closed at midnight on the 15th. This may be the only area of our lives that is better organized now than it was 10 years ago.
#9 I guess that makes me a drillbit too. No wonder I always feel a little dizzy!
Taxes were done long ago. This was one of the rare times we went to a preparer, because we had a few things we didn’t fully understand. The price was worth it. My husband has always done them. We once were audited and had a friend who does taxes help us out. Turned out that the IRS actually owed us money when we followed their rules. That was nice, if one can ever say anything about taxes and the IRS is nice.
Thanks for asking, Adios.
Unlike our dates, which are numbered sequentially from the beginning of the month, the Romans counted backwards from three fixed points - the Nones, the Ides, and the Kalends of the following month. The nones are related to the nundinae, the market days which fell on the eighth day of the eight-day market week used by the Romans. They are so called because in the Roman system of inclusive counting they came every nine days. From the nones to the ides there was exactly one market week. From the ides to the end of the month (except in February) there were exactly two market weeks. The term ides was used for the 15th day of the months of March, May, July, and October, and the 13th day of the other eight months. Julius Caesar’s predicted assassination on March 15th, made famous the quote, “Beware the Ides of March.”
hey folks - I just got word that my son who is in grad school and living with his grandparents in MI was taken to the ER this morning. They think he has appendicitis. I’m still waiting for definitive word on the situation. Please pray for him. Thanks.
(I am in VA and my husband is out of the country on a business trip.)
I can’t be a Drill bit. I mentioned to my husband once too often that Drill said the funniest thing today and now he’s all jealous. He used to be the one who said funny, clever things that I shared with others, but the was before the kid.
Klasko - May God take care of & heal your son, & give you peace & comfort while you wait.
Speaking of calendars & days & such - Last year we had a calandar that gave April 31 days.
Here is what I posted on Kyle’s blog about Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader? -
Maybe you’re taking this show a little too seriously?
I don’t watch it, but I think it’s just done for fun. And the people who go on the show know what they’re getting into, even the possiblity that they may have to say they’re not as smart as a 5th grader.
If you want to examine a “game” show, how ’bout that one with the lie detector? The people who have ruined their relationships by having to admit to affairs or such are the ones who are not smarter than a 5th grader!
I watched “Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader?” once and my answer was; NO.
My grandon just received that game for his 9th birthday. I’m not sure they have had a chance to play it yet. I’m sure my grandson (9) will love it. It will give him a chance to shine. I have watched the game show a few times. I thought it was ok, but not something I would make time for. It beats a lot of other stuff. I can’t take it too serously either.
I watched the lie detector one once and thought it was like gawking at a car accident. I could never do it again.
Klasko: Ditto Karen’s comment from me.
Joe B.: You are correct.
Since you didn’t put in an order, I’m assuming a virtual cappuccino will do? Enjoy!
Update - My son just called me on his way home from the hospital. He has a kidney stone. It is a relief for me that thay won’t have to do any invasive surgery. I know it’s not a relief to him - he’s on painkillers until it passes.
Thanks for the prayers.
You’re welcome. Thanks for giving us the opportunity to pray.
You good folks should have NOTHING to do with me.
For yesterday was an exceptionally black and bitter day, at the end. I sold my old tractor.
Like Judas, I pocketed my 30 pieces of silver and now she is gone, gone, gone, and I – I am utterly undone.
She was an Allis-Chalmers D-17, 1962-vintage (I have always preferred the younger gals, I am not ashamed to admit), wide front, 3 point hitch, hand clutch, good curves up front, a little wide and boxy in the rear. But so am I, what of that?
I say ‘she’. We (the kids, when they were kids, and I) called her Alice. I suppose we gave her that name because of the ‘Allis’ in her legal maiden name. But to me she will always be just ‘Alice’.
I got her on a whim so many years ago – saw her sitting in the lot up at Hance’s Implements, looking kind of forlorn and bed-raggled but still pretty and appealing as a kitten in a box full of straw. She wasn’t innocent, don’t get me wrong. She had seen two owners already; hard types, if you know what I mean, who ran her into the ground and kicked her when she was down and taught her the rough ways of men.
But, once we got to know each other, it was all right. We went through some hard times and some good times, through the years since, Alice and I. Cannot tell you how many acres we bush-hogged together in sun and rain, how many logs we yanked out of the timber, when snow was flying so thick I could not see her stack in front of my face and when the wind was blowing so hard I could not hear the clacking and straining of her cylinders. I can’t tell you how many trailer loads of stinking manure we hauled from lot to field, or how many bales of hay we transported from barn to stock in driving February sleet, and through raging thunderstorms from field to barns in the summers.
Now Alice was the typical female; cantankerous and argumentative, hard to start but interested once she got going, fickle (why when she was mad at me she would try to sneak up under a low-lying tree branch and scrape me off of her), a real coquette, as trying and exasperating as she could be – and she was expensive to maintain – she went through batteries like some women go through jewelry.
There was something exquisitely feminine about her; for instance in the way she delicately lifted the brush hog behind her when I would take her across the creek, like a woman modestly gathering her dress up and carefully wading across the waters. And once I asked too much of her and she, with all the great heart she had, strained too hard and broke inside, and so I had to operate on her and replace her bull-gears and in that, too, I became ever more attached to her and perhaps she to me.
But over the years her paint faded and her tires began cracking and her seals began leaking and she began to falter until one horrible day last fall she could not make it out of her shed, though she tried so very hard, and though I coaxed and wheedled her until I grew desperate.
Well, my utterly pragmatic wife (who never liked Alice and never understood her – perhaps a deeper age-old enmity existed than I have realized?) determined then that Alice should go. “This is a business, or at least it is supposed to be, and we don’t need dead-beat equipment moldering in our buildings” she said, looking up from the scattered bills and overdue notices that littered the kitchen table.
And so the advertisement was run and then yesterday a hard-faced short-legged man with oil-stained overalls and a trailer came. He looked Alice over with no gentleness or understanding at all, poking roughly at her with short stubby fingers, and spoke little to me except to say that she would be useful for . . . parts; parts he said, just like that, like he was commenting on the weather or something. Parts! I just about kicked him off the property then - but my wife was balefully watching from the back window of the house, and so I shut my mouth forever and thus was undone.
And then with me standing there in silence and confusion, he roughly loaded her, wrote the nasty check against her very hood, handed it to me with a kind of sneer and wink, and drove off down the county road.
I should say that the last sight I had of her was her great headlights (he had loaded her facing backwards) staring back at me in a sort of silent supplication and awakening realization of the terrible unthinkable thing that was happening to her, until even those headlights dwindled and disappeared forever in the distance and darkness of approaching dusk.
And I am undone. I am a fraud, people, and a traitor, a foul Benedict Arnold, and you, as you value loyalty and honor, should have NOTHING more to do with me.
I really shouldn’t comment. I should just leave “Join The Conversation” as the last statement after Drill’s marvelous story and we should close this thread for the day.
Drillbit indeed, sign me up.
I work in publishing, Drill, and read manuscripts all the time. This is the best I’ve read in quite awhile.
And we mourn with you over the loss of Alice.
Drill,
Since Michelle broke the reverent silence, I’ll join in. You make reading what you have to say worth it every time. This is one of your best–make sure you copy/save offblog.
I’d be proud to be called a Drillbit.
Drill, you broke my heart.
It reminded me of my own act of trechery.
When I was in the Air Force in Westover AFB, Mass. in 1951, I bought a used 1950 Chevrolet club coupe. She was a great car for a young man to have. I paid $1500 for her. (She had a masculine name, “Tzschnauble”.) We had to part while I went to Arabia, but when I got out of the AF and went to college, she went with me. I had lots of friends then, I think it was about my car.
Elvera courted in this car. I still tell her that she married me for my car.
In 1957 she took us to Ft. Worth, Texas just after I put 100,000 miles on her. She took me all over Texas when I would go to supply for a student preacher who had a church.
During all this time, she never left me on the side of the road, which is more than I could say for my ‘97 Mercury.
Finally, just before I left Texas, I abandoned her. I sold her to a fellow seminary student for $50. It broke my heart to see her go, it really did.
The guy who bought her was a shade tree mechanic and he bought her so, as his wife says, “he wouldn’t mess with the good car.” I’m glad I didn’t hear that before the deal was made, it would have killed it.
I did hear about her again though when we were living in Spartanburg. It seems the guy who bought her got a speeding ticket somewhere in West Texas. That takes some doing and I was proud to hear it.
Kristin,
I have a story I’d like to forward for your blogging consideration. Should I just post the link here, or would you prefer I e-mail it to you privately?
If the latter, I assume you have my e-mail address, so that you may send me yours?
Thx,
FiP
Drill’s story almost made me cry. (And then I felt silly for getting misty-eyed.)
Oy… I used to work on those old Allis Tractors. Got me a couple of stitches on account of one I stood up under… Had a couple of WD’s we worked on too. Interesting old things.
Whenever I see unused old equipment like tractors, locomotives, lathes, milling machines, sawmills, and grain mills, I get all melancholy and sentimental. I wish I had the money to buy ‘em and get them running again… There’s a certain charm in that old iron that just isn’t there with the newer machines.
I’ve spent a lot of time at the Old Woodworking Machinery website….
I’m afraid my gal wouldn’t understand it either Drill, so I’ll commiserate with ya.
Karen O,
I didn’t want to admit that earlier, myself. I also shamelessly copied into a Word document to read again later.
This is slowly becoming the meeting place for Drillbits Anonymous. Count me in. “Hi. My name is Peter and I am a Drillbit.”
You really should consider sending that to some agricultural magazine, Drill. Reimann Publications out of Milwaukee puts out two or three mags that are full of such sentimental stories. One, Reminisce, comes to mind.
Just think - we get to read these Drill Bits first and for free!
Another definition of Drill Bits (at the risk of getting in trouble with Big Sister over on the Scepter thread): The title of a book of Drill’s collected essays that I hope he gets published someday. I’d pay money to read all those Drill Bits again, collected in one place. Maybe World will help out with that like they did with Andree’s two books.
Are you sure Drill and the Drill Bits are not a band? What kind of music would they do?
I know a few men who would love to read that story. They attend all the old tractor festivals. I believe you really could get it published in one of those periodicals.
Frank:
How about you post the link on this thread; I’ll check back later.
Thanks!
Kristin - you’d better get over to the scepter thread right away! Victoria’s giving away free bongs with Lynn’s scepter. The woman’s out of control!
Tomorrow is 24 Hours of Kindness Day in Biddeford, Maine. What a nice idea!
Drill, never change!
If Kristin is smart, she’ll stay outta there.
KI,
We could start a band, but I think it should be Alice and the Drillbits. Just esoteric enough to be cool. It could be a jazz/bluegrass fusion played on old farm equiment.
We need to take up a collection, of course, to by Alice back. Only Drill could play her if she’s forgiving. But I got dibs on playing the spike harrow.
So my brother calls me up just as I exit the plane in Portland on Friday and asks, “Do you want to go to China?”
He’s going on business and can get a second seat on Japan Air for $450.
We leave three weeks from today; I’m headed to the Chinese counsulate in San Francisco tomorrow to get my visa.
Any suggestions? We’ll spend three days in Shanghai, two in Beijing and one in Tokyo.
Two Chinese banquets and at least one, maybe two, Chinese factory tours. I’m going to observe and spend time with my brother. My husband is delighted I can fulfill some of my wanderlust at my even-worse-at-wanderlust brother’s expense.
How nice for you, Michelle! My mom loved going to China. She has always loved Chinese art.
Adios, Jazz/Bluegrass sounds great. I’m not a musician, but I could handle the washtub or maybe a chain to clink?
Michelle,
I suggest a “Free Tibet” bumper sticker on your luggage, just for giggles and grins.
KI,
OK, I have you down for the washtub. Is that the percussion washtub or the bass?
Giggles and grins all the way to the gulag . . .
I’ve read a lot about China, but suddenly realizing I can’t take my Bible, I need to remove the cross I’ve worn around my neck for a decade and to watch what I say–is daunting.
I’m going on a business trip to observe, but on my visa application I’m a mere housewife who doesn’t have a workplace. I’m going to have to remember I’m not in a book and it will be better to say nothing. Of course I don’t speak Chinese, so that won’t be a problem.
Michelle,
Did they actually tell you that you can’t take your Bible? From what I’ve heard you can take your personal Bible–just make sure it comes home with you too. Check with the embassy to be sure.
Hey, I want to be a drillbit too. The band sounds just hokey enough to be fun. Put me down for the saw since I can’t keep on beat to save my life.
From our Obama discussions I think some here would appreciate Jon Stewart last night;
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xIu38d3ehVY
Hubbie just left for South Carolina and I’m alone with the kid and a migraine.
Ouch, Kbells! Adios, I think drums. Nothing like a good bass, though.
Kbells has a headache; band practice is in her garage tonight!
I did play trombone in the High School Band
It’s been a while but I play guitar, and have been known to bend a reed or two on a mouth harp….
Adios, if KI plays bass, I’ll be your drummer.
NJLawyer, I have always liked Biddeford, Maine. There is a good seafood restaurant there called Dockside. I remember having a seafood chowdah that was extraordinary. The fish was 1.5 inches over the broth. Very filling……and truly yummy.
Drill, I hope you’ll allow me to comment on your post(#24). Your post reminds me of things my own grandfather believed in. He was a proud farmer, who’s dad started the furniture biz in my hometown, in northern Rhode Island. When I was born in 1961, my family shared the house with Pep and Mem. He only lasted 7 years from that point. I so loved my Pep, that I followed him whereever he went. He was so proud to drive my buddy and me to kindergarten school, too. I even earned my first nicname: Pep’s shadow.
I never forgot those oldtime values, Drill, mostly because I believe they NEVER go out of style. My wonderful wife was raised on a farm, also. I married her because of her love for Jesus, family and life! I’ve learned alot from Helen’s parents, as they too, were “old school”.
Ya know, I’ve been through alot in my short life (47 yrs young), and I’ve been associated with some really good people. So has my cousin. I don’t have a farming background, but a military one. And one important value the military taught me is to keep hanging around people who are better than yourself, because by some stroke of good fortune, they’ll rub off on you. I like “hanging around” with you, Drill. And I sure would take it as good fortune if you’d adopt me as a Drillbit! I certainly can think of a lot less complimentary things I’ve been proud of…..
Well, thanks all. That was a pretty accurate account about Alice (for once I gave an accurate post), except on re-reading my own post I think I was way too hard on my dearly loved (and loving) wife. She is not as sentimental as me, for sure, and it is probably a good thing. Otherwise we would be living in a mile wide junkyard, because I would keep everything.
And she put me through school a long long time ago so that I have had a very good day job - if we had to rely entirely on my farming/ranching ability with this place I gripe and mumble so much about, we would have starved.
She is the brains and the heart of all I do, the most incredible gift besides Christ that I have been given in this life.
Chas and Make it Man and others with similar stories - thanks; so I see I am not entirely alone in my lunatic attachments to creatures of steel and rubber.
The encouragement to keep writing and the suggestions on publications are much appreciated; I have been keeping most of my posts lately (Cheryl D had originally suggested it) and Michelle, your professional assessment (like Cheryl D.’s) is thought-provoking.
Maybe some day . . .
I would have to look each of you up and write you all into the acknowledgements, should that ever be - you each (who read my posts) suffer much nonsense that I write and never close me down as I too often deserve.
I would ESPECIALLY have to acknowledge the WMB folks, Lynn Vincent, Kristin, Alicia, Harrison (especially), etc. - their patience and forbearance must be well nigh inexhaustible. I have not found the bottom of their patience yet, but it is not for lack of trying.
I do hope Lynn Vincent is okay and comes back soon but appreciate the other WMB authorities for keeping things moving along and not banning general nuisances like myself.
Oh, so you’re a general nuisance, eh?
I’m still a major pain-in-the-butt, and hope to get my promotion soon.
Selah…..
I can play the accordion. Does that get me into the band, or banned. Can I still be a DB?
We will let the accordion in as long as it doesn’t make Alice act up.
Drill,
Keep track of Alice!! She may come back to reward you! My Grandfather left the farm in 1951 to work for his brother-in-law’s impement business for a year. When he and grandma came back to the farm in 1952 (where my mom and dad were farming) he brought with him a brand new 1952 Massey Harris 44 Row Crop tractor. We used it on the farm regularly until it gave up in about 1998 or so. From there she sat out in the dried up grass, rusting away like the carcass of a dead animal. Grass was growing up around it and the tires were rotting and going flat.
In 2003 our son, who is very mechanically inclined, decided that he would restore his great-grandfathers old tractor for his high school senior project. He worked on it daily from August 2003 until May of 2004 when he drove it out of the shop totally rebuilt, repainted and restored to the glory of new! He insisted that his great-grandmother be present when he presented it. Needless to say she was impressed and there was more than one tear shed in the family on that day. There is a plaque on the side of the tractor that dedicates the tractor and the labor of it’s restoration to the memory of his Great-grandfather who passed away in 1999 when our son was 14.
The Massey now has an easy life lounging in Reed’s shop waiting for the next tractor show and Parade. What a life!
The band needs a violin!!
Mtcon, what a wonderful story, thank you.
drill, mtcon,
Well done. My Dad (Travis Birkenstock, Sr.) spent nearly three decades busting in the tractor biz, working for Massey from the 60s through 80s. Busting his butt for the little Birkenstocks. Think I’ll break out some of the good scotch tonight in his honor.
MTCon,
Do you play the violin? Because if there is an opening… I mean if one is needed and no one else wants to, um,if the band could use it. I play the violin a bit, sort of fiddle around with it and I would be honored to be allowed to take some small part with my violin, of course. This is for THE Drill and his band? If they need me, I mean. Well, that’s all.
Mumsee, I don’t. It’s all yours! Thanks for the comments. Travis, I’ll have a homebrew in Sr.’s honor.
HRW 45. You and Jon Stewart are not elite enough to know that “elite ” and “elitism” are different words. One is a matter of other’s opinion of you and the other is a matter of your opinion of others.