Oddly, I once dated a lady customer named Flo, most memorable for being somewhat deaf, kind of pretty, and asking me for a book named "Fize of Gabriel Ratchets." I guess she was also memorable because my old friend Laird from the plywood plant went out with her for a while before I dated her and she had an ex-husband who'd also served on Patrol Gunboats.
Yeah, Disney was right, it's a small, small world.
Anyway, we dated just enough to know that we were NOT compatible and then moved on. Once in a great while she stops in and visits, and I guess she finally found "Fize" elsewhere. I mention her because she was the least X-rated, least shocking, and most fun of the experiences I had that winter of 86-87.
Getting involved with horses and Susan in the spring marked the end of the downward spiral I'd been in the last few years of my marriage, and the beginnings of a new life.
Susan's family moving in with us was like a dream come true for me, and I had a lot of fun for a while, tempered with an increasing number of frustrations.
Four year old Carina was a kick.
Susan's little sister Lisa and I were sitting out in the yard, which we had freshly partitioned off with electric fencing so the horses could take over the mowing job. Carina was tooling around on her tricycle and decided to peddle over and join us.
When she came to the single strand of fencing between us, it was just a little too low for her to peddle under. She stopped just short, thought a minute, then reached out and lifted the wire.
The old weedwhacker electric fencer we used put out sustained ten thousand volt pulses at intervals instead of a steady flow of juice and was designed to burn off weeds that touched the fence wire and might ground them out.
By chance Carina grabbed it on the OFF cycle. She had a firm grip and was lifting it when the ON cycle hit.
Lisa and I were watching her, and I swear Carina's eye lit up when that weed-cutting charge hit her. She froze for a second, then when the fence cycled she dropped it, paused for a couple of seconds, then ran to Lisa and started crying. Lisa was doing everything she could to not laugh, but I wasn't so polite. I thought it was hilarious.
I forgot about Karma.
I went out a few mornings later while the dew was still on the grass to dig an old blacksmith leg vice, like the one pictured above, out of the garage and take it over to the shop. I drug it through the wet grass across the yard, and when I got to the fence I crouched down to slip under it. I didn't crouch far enough. I got all 10K volts right between the shoulder blades and it knocked me flat, face down in the grass.
For those of you who have not learned to beware of one-wire fences, let me advise you that damp ground amplifies their impact. The dew did do it to me, Doo Dah! The GOOD part about the dew was that I blamed it for the wet spot on my pants afterward. Not exactly a lie, but a definite misdirection.
TBC
(Me)
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
JJ: Shocking Times
Oddly, I once dated a lady customer named Flo, most memorable for being somewhat deaf, kind of pretty, and asking me for a book named "Fize of Gabriel Ratchets." I guess she was also memorable because my old friend Laird from the plywood plant went out with her for a while before I dated her and she had an ex-husband who'd also served on Patrol Gunboats.
Yeah, Disney was right, it's a small, small world.
Anyway, we dated just enough to know that we were NOT compatible and then moved on. Once in a great while she stops in and visits, and I guess she finally found "Fize" elsewhere. I mention her because she was the least X-rated, least shocking, and most fun of the experiences I had that winter of 86-87.
Getting involved with horses and Susan in the spring marked the end of the downward spiral I'd been in the last few years of my marriage, and the beginnings of a new life.
Susan's family moving in with us was like a dream come true for me, and I had a lot of fun for a while, tempered with an increasing number of frustrations.
Four year old Carina was a kick.
Susan's little sister Lisa and I were sitting out in the yard, which we had freshly partitioned off with electric fencing so the horses could take over the mowing job. Carina was tooling around on her tricycle and decided to peddle over and join us.
When she came to the single strand of fencing between us, it was just a little too low for her to peddle under. She stopped just short, thought a minute, then reached out and lifted the wire.
The old weedwhacker electric fencer we used put out sustained ten thousand volt pulses at intervals instead of a steady flow of juice and was designed to burn off weeds that touched the fence wire and might ground them out.
By chance Carina grabbed it on the OFF cycle. She had a firm grip and was lifting it when the ON cycle hit.
Lisa and I were watching her, and I swear Carina's eye lit up when that weed-cutting charge hit her. She froze for a second, then when the fence cycled she dropped it, paused for a couple of seconds, then ran to Lisa and started crying. Lisa was doing everything she could to not laugh, but I wasn't so polite. I thought it was hilarious.
I forgot about Karma.
I went out a few mornings later while the dew was still on the grass to dig an old blacksmith leg vice, like the one pictured above, out of the garage and take it over to the shop. I drug it through the wet grass across the yard, and when I got to the fence I crouched down to slip under it. I didn't crouch far enough. I got all 10K volts right between the shoulder blades and it knocked me flat, face down in the grass.
For those of you who have not learned to beware of one-wire fences, let me advise you that damp ground amplifies their impact. The dew did do it to me, Doo Dah! The GOOD part about the dew was that I blamed it for the wet spot on my pants afterward. Not exactly a lie, but a definite misdirection.
TBC
(Me)
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