Ya gotta laugh.
I posted this over on another web site (sorry John I do play the other side of the field once in a while), Hope you get a kick out of it.
well Corn silage has been going well. But today's saga goes back to last week.
We were putting the feedroll drives back together when my Dad set his glasses down on the platform on the chopper cause it was hot and they kept slipping down his nose.
My two youngest ones wanted to help so I said wash the windows.
WE were working along with only the occasional splatter of water and glass cleaner getting on us, When suddenly dad stands up and says where are my glasses?
At that moment my youngest boy looks down and stomps on them by accident. Oh crap!
Well Dad can read without them and can even see to the ends of his arm without them. In other words he's got to have them.
So since we moved out here he hasn't been to see any optometrists so Mom says we'll go to wally world this weekend and get some no big deal, right?
Wally world's optometrist is on vacation. Dad says no problem as he turns the cart around and runs down three older ladies and one kid. and then profussley apologizes to the manican in the fancy eyeglasses for bumping into her.
Well it has been fun to watch him run the chopper we don't have a directional head on our chopper so you kinda need to stay on the row. This has been somewhat difficult for him. but once the field is opened up he does fine.
I know this is long but I am getting to the meat of it here now.
Well today we were filling the 60 footer. Dad says I'll go up and see how full it is. (Anybody see the problem?)
so I said fine. He comes down," 8 doors left" he says.
Fine we'll finish after chores. Well on the 8th load I shift the wagon into high and the Oliver 1955 gives a little grunt and that red CIH 600 blower shakes a little( like when you rev up the engine in one of those old muscle cars or my F350 super duty 7.3 diesel) and then.........
The governor really opens up on the ole 55 and the black smoke poors outa there like some one yelling fire in a theater.
Then just as I say What the ......... It's all quite. Only thing I hear is the 5230 humming with the wagon running off feed into the now full intake on the blower.
Oh **** she's plugged I mumble.
So I start the tedious process of unplugging the silo First I run up the outside of the stave huffing and puffing to get up there quick when suddenly my neck hurts and I feel the steel of the crows nest shaking and then quite unexpectantly I feel this warm liquid running down my ear. Nuts I hit my head and now I am bleeding isn't this just great.
Well I unplug the silo and head back down.
I start unplugging the blower. but in my haste I didn't puill it far enough from the pipe.
Suddenly I hear the sweet voice of my loving better half say something which causes me to turn my head quickly ....yep I hit my head again. Now blood is running down my other ear.
I stumble off the blower and sit on the concrete holding my head in my hands.
My second oldest son, the fruit of my loins is crying as he watchs all this.... I am moved by his compassion. Then I see thru the blood running down my eyes that my wife is also crying. I felt a need to reassure them that I was OK then I realized those tears where not tears of compassion but the kinda alligator tears you get when you are laughing so hard you are afraid you'll pea your pants! Well nuts to them.
The moral of the story you ask? or as my wife would say whats the point!
Don't let your blind dad go up to see how full the silo is! we only put eight loads in when she plugged!
Also don't expect sympathy from your dearest loved ones.
All in all not a bad day. JR
Re: Ya gotta laugh.
I know the feeling. Last year I was golfing with my 7 year old daughter and 12 year old son. My petite little 7 year old wacked me along side of the head with the putter. When I sat back up off the ground my son said "Dad, you're bleeding". I had blood running down my face and running off the elbow of my arm that was holding my head. We headed back to the clubhouse (short walk, we were putting on the first hole) where the club owner wanted to take me to the hospital. I declined. When we got home I held my head over the sink while my dear wife bandaged my head and she was biting her lip pretty hard to keep from laughing. The story has gotten lots of laughs and NO sympathy since.
Moral of this story,,, make sure even 7 year old girls understand the meaning of the word "put" on the golf course! Especially if you're going to stand behind them.