I last week drove up to Athens, Georgia to visit my daughter and her family.  While there, my truck broke down, requiring a tow and repair to the tune of $2,000 and I couldn’t make it to work for two days, a real hardship since I’m a consultant and I only get paid when I show up for work.  Others may disagree, but I consider myself pretty darn lucky.

A few weeks ago, I pulled PD’s speedometer and cable and sent them away for repair.  They were returned to me this past week; all that was left to do was put them back in the car.  Others may disagree, but ignoring Occam is done at one’s peril…

I was asked recently to house-sit for some friends while they were out of town and, not one to leave PD home alone, brought the Tree House over, PD ensconced therein, to share in the joys of interweb access and movin’ pitcher boxes.  Others may disagree, but PD had less fun than he had hoped and ended up needing to see a Doctor himself.

A few years ago, my daughter Becky gave me a book to read, The Omnivore’s Dilemma.  I recommend it to you.

A while back, I chatted with Becky about her desire to stop eating anything containing high fructose corn syrup, to buy from her local farmers, to provide wholesome food for her family.

Recently, I spoke to Becky about her efforts to prepare meals made from the fundamentals, to eschew preprocessed, industrial foodstuffs.

Frankly, a few years ago, I thought Becky was nuts.  I don’t think that anymore.

As planned, I began my investigation into the procurement and consumption of locally grown, healthier food.  I was fortunate, coincidently, to be reading over the past week a book given to me by my daughter, Becky.  The book, which I do not commend to you, was written by Joel Salatin, Folks, This Ain’t Normal.  Joel is the farmer from Virginia whose natural farm was one quartet of the food journey described in The Omnivore’s Dilemma.  Unfortunately, to mix an agri-business metaphor, something of value in Joel’s book is rarer than hen’s teeth (the book is a rather extended rant about all that is wrong with the world, from the inception of the USDA to Obama’s health plan).  I tended to agree with much of what he said, but the effort required to find the wheat in the chaff was, well, annoying (sort of like reading my stuff, I assume).

I made for breakfast today three “naturally grown” eggs.  They were different in two minor respects: the yolks were slightly darker and “solid” and the packaging (shell) was not of uniform conformity; they were more bullet shaped than “egg” shaped (now there’s a paradox, for ya).

So, I prepared my grass-fed T-bone on the grill last night.  For a fair comparison to the usual fare, I treated it exactly as I do every other piece of grilled meat with some Kon-Rico Cajun spice rub.  In the interest of full disclosure, I wasn’t able to compare apples to apples (sort of) because the farm I bought the T-bone from didn’t have my usual cut, a New York strip.

PD'n Me

A run-in with the law was inevitable.  Others may disagree, but like I’ve always said, honesty is the best policy.

So, as a certifiable newbie in re my TR6 (“P.D.”), I’ve started to attack the “easy” stuff (you know, fluids and lights; things that won’t kill the car…or me).  Today I decided to fix one of the reverse lights (one worked, one didn’t).  Others may disagree, but I think I’m on the verge of becoming a certifiable genius (see: MacGyver).

After nearly forty years of [im]patient waiting, I took delivery yesterday of a 1973 Triumph TR6.  The cost is unimportant.  Let it go.

Others may disagree, but I think this is one helluva way to spend my kids’ inheritance…