Stochastic Factors

Effectively, accidents, drought, hurricane, fire, that affect animal population densities. Reading about the passenger pigeon, depressing, when D shows up with 1,500 lbs of gravel for the driveway holes, we shovel it out, then add some braces to the woodshed, add an extra purlin for the roof metal overlap, and put the lid on (as many carpenters refer to the act of roofing with metal). Storage space for wrack. Load D up with materials for the wrack furniture, drive over the new gravel a few times, to pack it. Progress in spite of myself. The roof metal, in 8 foot and 12 foot lengths varies slightly in corrugations (great word, I love the way it sounds), which is plain silly, but we make it work, it is just a woodshed. I haven't had one since Missip, Colorado so dry it wasn't necessary because the snow wasn't wet, but here it will be a good thing. My style is one big pile of firewood in the middle, but I might get into stacking. Most firewood users are compulsive stackers, even anal, and in the house, I too make lovely ricks, but only because I need to lose surface moisture and my two-by-two ricks are perfect for that, and they have to balance 12 high, so they tend toward the uniform, with usually a gnarly split knot on top. Soon enough. Need to pick up the pace every weekend from now until November 15th, when the show opens, then get a couple of things done around here, including firewood and back porch roof. Will my house ever be finished? No. Will it last until I die? Yes. If I can outlive child-support I have a fighting chance. Today gives me a fighting chance, the woodshed, the driveway repair, but I probably need a cell-phone eventually, so I could call B or Ronnie to come and save my sorry ass, I've broken my leg or something. I need to smoke this cured loin, so it doesn't need cooking, then could be thin sliced for sandwiches or whatever. It's amazing, rinsed of the cure and soaked in papaya juice, it's one of the finest things I've ever eaten. If curing pork was an Olympic sport, I'd win a metal. I mean, really, I don't brag on myself often, I'm more usually self-deprecating about some foible or the other, I know I'm imperfect in almost every way, but I can cure a pork loin in ways that make grown men cry. Various Jewish friends have called me The Devil. I accept that. Maybe I am. Eight out of ten of my fingernails are deformed, as a secondary characteristic of another disease, and I eat meat. Does that qualify me? The Devil's Advocate, certainly, but him himself, I think not, you got the entire administrative branch to fill that slot, what do they think they're doing? I could run this country better and I'm a janitor. Clearly, intelligence is an impediment, lack of, you can be dumber than a fence post and do just fine, keep your finger poised on the trigger, and not do too much harm. But the next president gets to appoint two Supreme Court Justices and that could turn the tide. Over-ruling everything. Scary. Who would Palin nominate, after McCain suffered a stroke? Keeps me awake at night. Someone else who had killed a caribou? Another Hockey Mom? Please. I don't want to appear politically incorrect, but I have a problem, this woman is dumber than a fence post, and I don't want her 'a heart-beat away', I want her far away, a small town in Alaska, where she wouldn't threaten me, I don't want her nominating Supreme Court Justices.