Sheilajeanne

FURNACE IS FIXED!! I e-mailed my furnace guy this morning, and he got back to me and asked if I'd be home late in the day. He came at 5:30 and was there until 7, as it turned out the problem wasn't as simple as just replacing the pressure switch. He says water got into the furnace at some point and damaged the circuit board, so the second stage of the burner doesn't work. But at least now the temperature in the house is the same as the temperature the thermostat is set at! SO nice to be warm! I imagine the circuit board is going to need replacing, plus there's a strong mouldy smell in the air that is coming from the furnace, so we're not quite out of the woods yet!

Darren, I've seen a few episodes of Star Trek where they resorted to using Morse when other methods of communication were down or being blocked by an enemy! Chuck, are you talking about gas furnaces in general? Or just the newer ones? This is the first time I've had a problem with them, and I've lived in quite a few houses that had gas furnaces. One thing I do hate are those modern thermostats, you know, the energy efficient ones where you can program them to set the temperature back at night? The one I had in my previous house was run by a battery. When the battery dies, guess what? The furnace shuts off! I do like to set the thermostat back at night, but with this particular piece of junk, you had to press a button numerous times to get it to the number of degrees you wanted. And pressing the button didn't always work - sometimes the temperature would change, sometimes it wouldn't. Plus, I had to be wearing my glasses in order to read it. As I kept irregular hours, I didn't WANT the thermostat to set the temperature back automatically - I much preferred to do it myself, so resetting it was a nightly thing. That house had a leaky basement in the spring, and the sump pump didn't always kick in when it flooded. It was a very old house, well over 100 years old. You had to access the basement by a trap door and a very uneven set of steps. You also had to remember to duck your head to avoid the support beams as you descended. Needless to say, I didn't visit the basement very often, which is why the fan got wet and died. Anyway, when the furnace fan had to be replaced, I asked the repair man to replace the thermostat with an old analog model, where it took just a nudge on the temperature setting lever to move the needle to the desired spot. And I was able to read the damn dial WITHOUT my glasses!! This is what the access to the basement stairs looked like. There were actually two trap doors, a big one and a small one. To the left of the stairs is a shelf which was used for storing all sorts stuff (glue bottle, box of floor tiles, kitchen pots and pans that were rarely used, etc.) And this is what the outside of the house looked like. They called it 'the Owl House, due to the round windows! I really hate what the new owner has done. He removed the lovely antique stained glass transoms that were above the front door and the front window and replaced them with plain glass. He also removed the 'widow's walk' (mini balcony) that many of these old houses have. The house didn't have AC, so I would leave that door open in the summer to get better air circulation. (Yes, it had a screen door to keep the bugs out.) He also wanted to cut down the beautiful maple tree that was on the front lawn! Fortunately, the tree is on township property, so he couldn't touch it! In addition to turning a beautiful colour in the fall, it also helped to keep the house cool in the summer!

Northmount, YES!! That's exactly the problem I was having! Too much water in the condensation drainage line, and the pressure sensor wasn't working properly! Maybe it's a design flaw that's common to a certain make of furnace. The furnace is only about 2 years old, and replaced the oil furnace which was installed when the house was built in the late 1960's. Anyway, he's order a new pressure switch. Hoping that will fix things... I can only get the temperature up to around 18 C. I can live with that, but I have to bundle up. The night it was really bad, it was extremely cold and windy outside, which made the temperature inside the house drop quite low.

LOL, Chuck and HS! Lent is coming this week, so I stole this off of FB: A protestant moved into a community that was almost entirely Catholic. When Lent rolled around, the Catholics were upset when nearly every Friday their new resident would barbecue himself a lovely steak, instead of eating fish as the Catholics do during Lent. A number of the men got together to discuss the problem. "Listen," one of them said, "I've talked to him, and he definitely is a Christian. Why don't we see if we can get him to convert to Catholicism?" The all agreed that sounded like an excellent idea, so they nominated one of their group to approach him. Much to their delight, he agreed! So, the following Sunday, they arranged with their priest to do a short conversion ceremony. The priest sprinkled him with Holy Water and said, "I baptise you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit! Behold, you are no longer a Protestant - You are now a Catholic." But the following Friday, when dinner time rolled around, once again they smelled the tantalizing odour of barbecued beef coming from the man's backyard. They went over to his house, and were just in time to see him put a steak on the BBQ grill. He sprinkled it with water, and said, "In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, you are no longer a steak - you are now a fillet of fish!"

Wow, that really IS ridiculous! I've been dealing with hearing aid batteries since I was in Grade 8, and the only thing I find annoying is some hearing aids make it ridiculously hard to get the battery in and out of the battery slot. My cochlear implant has made battery removal a snap, though. I just use the magnet on the receiver's headpiece, place it over the battery - mission accomplished. Canada still uses the dial packs for batteries, which make it almost TOO easy to remove a battery from the pack. Have had a few wind up on the floor while changing batteries while driving. (Yeah, probably shouldn't do that...) I would reallyreallyreally be P.O'd if Canada switches to the system you describe, Chuck. It sounds like the blister packs they use here for larger button style batteries, like the ones that go in garage or auto remote controls or the SNARK guitar tuners. I've said a few nasty words getting THOSE critters out of the packages, believe me! Darren, those are beautiful! Well done for a first attempt! We are having unbelievably cold weather here, and I do worry about putting the dog out and forgetting about her. I have done that now and then, and with these cold temps, she could easily suffer frostbite. Last night, it got down to -25 C/-14 F! Maybe I need to start setting a timer, too. My memory isn't quite what it used to be... Oh, and did I mention my furnace STILL isn't working right?? The furnace guy was out again the day after I called him, and diagnosed the problem, but he had to order a part to fix it. Meanwhile with these very cold temperatures, I've got so many blankets on my bed that it's hard to turn over!

Tsunkasapa, when I originally saw your thread last night, I found I couldn't respond, as it cut too close to the bone, even though my husband died in 2004. I know what it's like to stand by and watch a loved one fade away from cancer. Time softens the pain, but it never completely leaves. I am so sorry for your loss. And I hope that getting back into leatherwork will help you get your life back and help with the pain. I wish you all the best! Jane

Any James Bond fans on the board?? This is priceless!

Posting this in honour of Burns Night:

Fred, thought this would especially interest you, as they came from your part of the world!

Uh-oh!

LOL, Fred! My father's mother kept a pair of geese in the fenced in front yard of her farmhouse. You had to walk through the yard to get to the door. They were definitely her 'watch geese'. My mom would take me by the hand, and admonish me to 'watch out for the geese' as we hurried to get through the yard to the front door. One of my aunts kept guinea hens. They wouldn't attack, but they certainly made a lot of noise, alerting the people in the house that someone was outside. Edit: my late husband's name was Roger. Other kids teased him by calling him Roger the dodger, and Roger the lodger. Thought that might help you remember the rhyme. Apparently, both of those rhymes have some not very nice meanings, though he never explained them to me. But Rodger the dodger might fit with this guy not being able to dodge the goose...

Fascinating bit of history! The gloves were made from the skin of unborn calves. The stitching was extremely fine - 32 stitches to the inch! https://limerickslife.com/limerick-gloves/?fbclid=IwY2xjawPffeJleHRuA2FlbQIxMABicmlkETFpWGNPdkZadGxEMDUxQUJNc3J0YwZhcHBfaWQQMjIyMDM5MTc4ODIwMDg5MgABHpjhkY4VkujaZbZBxHD_F-wk-QmRrvpSSdjtY6mlOLb_SbQgXo4CkygvN7Me_aem_p9tNbWgEBS2Yl2smZs-1MQ

Oh yeah, geese can be pretty vicious! We make lots of jokes about the aggressiveness of Canada geese here in Canada! We've nick-named them 'cobra chickens'!

I had a friend in HS who was very bright, and loved biology. She went to university, and eventually got her Master's degree in microbiology. Upon graduation, she got a job with the Ministry of Health. She found herself doing the same lab tests over and over and over. She also realized that eventually she would get promoted to a more interesting job, but government bureaucracies are not at all flexible, and promotion would be very slow. She quit the job, went back to school...and became a lawyer! Several of my HS classmates also became lawyers, but she was the only one who worked in criminal law as well as the other, less demanding legal fields! At the time, it was unusual for a woman to be a lawyer, and even MORE unusual to find a female in that particular field of law!

Chuck, didn't know your state had a 'Wyoming triangle'! Wyoming Triangle Identified Along I-80, Officials Continue to Blame Wind While most Americans are familiar with the Bermuda Triangle, Wyoming residents have long suspected that the state has its own version and it runs straight along I-80. For years, officials have attributed the alarming number of semi-trucks tipping over and "taking naps" on the interstate to high winds. However, documents quietly circulating among concerned locals suggest that the real cause may be far more complicated, involving supernatural forces and possible alien technology. According to the findings, some vehicles lose stability not from gusts, but from mysterious bubbling gas pockets beneath the roadway. When released, the gas briefly disrupts a vehicle's buoyancy, causing it to gently roll onto its side, usually in the exact spot where drivers swear it was calm moments earlier. Disappearances along the corridor have also raised eyebrows. While officially classified as "relocations" or "missed exits," insiders claim that certain individuals were unintentionally collected by alien transit systems operating beneath southern Wyoming. The science connecting I-80 to the Bermuda Triangle is reportedly straightforward. When a straight line is drawn from I-80 directly to the Bermuda Triangle, the two align perfectly. If the line is stopped at the Bermuda Triangle, it vanishes entirely, something experts say is "extremely concerning." State officials continue to reassure the public that wind remains the only explanation and encourage drivers to check conditions before traveling. Meanwhile, residents are advised to secure loads, drive cautiously, and avoid drawing straight lines on maps late at night.

I know a lot of the people on this board are into motorbikes, and given this is the time of year many of us are feeding the birds (and, inevitably, the squirrels!) it's a good time to share this story. It's not new - I've had it hanging around in my files for a few years now, but I believe it's true. Or mostly true... And it still gives me a serious belly laugh after all these years! Neighborhood Hazard (Or: Why the Cops Won't Patrol Brice Street) I never dreamed slowly cruising through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Studies have shown that motorcycling requires more decisions per second, and more sheer data processing than nearly any other common activity or sport. The reactions and accurate decision making abilities needed have been likened to the reactions of fighter pilots! The consequences of bad decisions or poor situational awareness are pretty much the same for both groups too. Occasionally, as a rider I have caught myself starting to make bad or late decisions while riding. In flight training, my instructors called this being "behind the power curve". It is a mark of experience that when this begins to happen, the rider recognizes the situation, and more importantly, does something about it. A short break, a meal, or even a gas stop can set things right again as it gives the brain a chance to catch up. Good, accurate, and timely decisions are essential when riding a motorcycle…at least if you want to remain among the living. In short, the brain needs to keep up with the machine. I had been banging around the roads of east Texas and as I headed back into Dallas, found myself in very heavy, high-speed traffic on the freeways. Normally, this is not a problem, I commute in these conditions daily, but suddenly I was nearly run down by a cage that decided it needed my lane more than I did. This is not normally a big deal either, as it happens around here often, but usually I can accurately predict which drivers are not paying attention and avoid them before we are even close. This one I missed seeing until it was nearly too late, and as I took evasive action I nearly broadsided another car that I was not even aware was there! Two bad decisions and insufficient situational awareness…all within seconds. I was behind the power curve. Time to get off the freeway. I hit the next exit, and as I was in an area I knew pretty well, headed through a few big residential neighborhoods as a new route home. As I turned onto the nearly empty streets I opened the visor on my full-face helmet to help get some air. I figured some slow riding through the quiet surface streets would give me time to relax, think, and regain that "edge" so frequently required when riding. Little did I suspect… As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me. It was a squirrel and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it—it was that close. I hate to run over animals…and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact. Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels can take care of themselves! Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing the oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his little beady eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Banzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" as the leap was spectacular and he flew over the windshield and impacted me squarely in the chest. Instantly he set upon me. If I did not know better I would have sworn he brought twenty of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light t-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage! Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and leather gloves puttering maybe 25mph down a quiet residential street…and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And losing. I grabbed for him with my left hand and managed to snag his tail. With all my strength I flung the evil rodent off the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw. That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser. But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary pissed-off squirrel. This was an evil attack squirrel of death! Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands, and with the force of the throw swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact he landed square on my back and resumed his rather anti-social and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him! The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result. Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it. The engine roared as the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in…well…I just plain screamed. Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel torn t-shirt, and only one leather glove roaring at maybe 70mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street…on one wheel and with a demonic squirrel on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder. With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle…my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little affect against the massive power of the big cruiser. About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he is a Scottish attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got IN my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed partway and he began hissing in my face I am quite sure my screaming changed tone and intensity. It seemed to have little affect on the squirrel however. The rpm's on The Dragon maxed out (I was not concerned about shifting at the moment) and her front end started to drop. Now picture the large man on the huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very ragged torn t-shirt, and wearing one leather glove, roaring at probably 80mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out his mostly closed full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse. Finally I got the upper hand…I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked…sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of, so to speak. Picture the scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork. Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing one leather glove, moving at probably 80mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car. I heard screams. They weren't mine... I managed to get the big motorcycle under directional control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign at a busy cross street. I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really. But for two things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. One of them was on his back in the front yard of the house they had been parked in front of and was rapidly crabbing backwards away from the patrol car. The other was standing in the street and was training a riot shotgun on the police cruiser. So the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway. That was one thing. The other? Well, I swear I could see the squirrel, standing in the back window of the patrol car among shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery, and shaking his little fist at me. I think he was shooting me the finger… That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car… I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made an easy right turn, and sedately left the neighborhood. As for my easy and slow drive home? Screw it. Faced with a choice of 80mph cars and inattentive drivers, or the evil, demonic, attack squirrel of death...I'll take my chances with the freeway. Every time. And I'll buy myself a new pair of gloves.

Yes, calves are often castrated that way, too.

Hope this is clean enough... it's a typical nursing type joke, but most of them I know aren't very clean! A young student nurse is giving a patient a bed bath. He is wearing an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. As she gets ready to wash below his waist, he asks her, "Nurse, can you please tell me, are my testicles black?" "What?" exclaims the nurse, wondering why he would ask such a question. The patient repeats what he said again: "Are my testicles black?" "Why - I don't know," she says. "I'm just about to wash you down there, so let's have a look." She lifts up his gown, and examines them. "No," she says, "they look just fine." The patient, obviously frustrated, removes his mask, and says very slowly, "I want to know: are my TEST RESULTS back?"

LOL - wise man! Your photo clearly shows why the calves are often called 'red dogs'. Are these wood bison, or the regular plains bison?

I have to say I'm glad branding isn't a thing here in Ontario, because we don't have open range the way they do in your neck of the woods! Most farm animals are ear tagged instead. Mind you, I wouldn't want to be the guy doing the tagging in THIS picture! It never fails to amaze me that tourists sometimes try to get close enough to pet these massive beasts!

LOL, Chuck! Rocky mountain oysters are something I'd like to try if I ever get the chance. Many farmers I know here in Ontario castrate their own piglets, but with more sanitary methods than the shepherds! They also dock the tails and remove the canine teeth (tusks) from the male piglets. Bull calves are castrated at just a few days old, using elastic bands. You don't survive as a farmer if you're calling the vet out for every little thing.

Chuck, I remember some N. Americans touring a tea factory in England. One of them wanted to know what goes into tea bags. The tour guide rolled his eyes and replied "The sweepings."

I call those 'training treats' for training my dog, especially when tracking. You slice them up really small and drop the bits on the track. Heh. Serious dog people spend hundreds of dollars on high priced dog food, then give their dogs the cheapest treats imaginable... I very rarely eat hot dogs. There's a trailer at the local Canadian Tire that sells hot dogs, sausages and burgers, plus fries and a few other things during the nice weather. I always go for the sausages, which are really good. They come with free fried onions. The onions go on the bun FIRST. They have dozens of different toppings you can put on yourself - everything from sauerkraut to olives! If my favourite BBQ type sauce isn't available, I've been known to put some ketchup on the brat. Standard dressing for a regular dog in my part of the world, is ketchup, mustard and green relish. We were pretty poor when I was growing up, so we often wrapped our hotdogs in a slice of white bread instead of buying buns. Edit: Chuck, your post at the top of this page seems to have disappeared? All I see is your name.

Yep, and I find the older I get, the more time I spend inside in winter. MY days of skating, skiing and tobogganing are sadly past. Oh, I don't think there's a single one of us who hasn't done something similar with either glue, paint or dye! My worst moment was when I decided to do a little touch-up on a nearly completed project. Normally, I use a syringe to transfer a small amount of dye to one of those little pallets with the tiny depressions in them for holding different colours of dye. Nah, I thought, I'll just dip my brush in the bottle... Spilled the whole damn bottle! The one good thing was the project was okay. My cutting mat, pants, shoes and the floor, not so much!

Yep, let's not forget the punctured fingers and blood stains!