He also wanted to boast about how many rich old ladies he's teaching to ride, and how generously they pay him. Oh, and how one widow just bought the modular home next door to my daughter for $10,500, and is moving it next door to him. That's why he's trying to get rid of the 30-year-old mobile home that's been on that lot.
Feeling generous, I asked him if he and his wife like butternut squash; he answered that they certainly did, saying, "I never turn down free food!" Then we told him to help himself to what's left of the tomatoes. Geesh, he was like a kid in a candy store. Cliff thinks some rich old ladies are going to be offered some squash soon.
Then Cliff and I took some pictures of farm implements and such that he doesn't use much, to put on Craigslist. His tractor fund has been taken down to nothing, and he'd like to build it up somewhat. He listed a two-wheel trailer, the old John Deere square baler, some tractor wheel weights, and other odds and ends. Oh yes, and he re-listed the 520 John Deere.
Craigslist is a wonderful thing, but you always have to deal with what Cliff calls "the talkers" (those who only want a phone conversation and have no intention of buying), and the "lookie-loos" (those who love to come and see what you have, but have no intention of buying).
We had all of the above.
So when three elderly folks came to look at the John Deere (obviously with no intention of buying), Cliff, having noticed my generous mood and the effect it had on the local horse guy, asked them if they'd like some butternut squash and some tomatoes. I wasn't there when he made this offer, but I'm fine with it.
When I went out, though, I noticed one of the old gentlemen had a handful of my bell peppers.
"You're welcome to a couple of those," I told him, "but I'm freezing them, so take it easy."
Cliff later told me he hadn't offered them the peppers; I guess they just figured it was a free-for-all.
So he's had several calls on his ads, but so far it's just talkers and lookie-loos.
On another note: Cliff always has a pair of pliers with him, wherever he goes. He feels almost crippled without them. Lately, he keeps losing his favorite Sears Craftsman pliers. It isn't his fault, it's the way his clothes are designed.
One pair of jeans has a hammer pocket that he keeps thinking is a pliers pocket. Of course, the pliers fall right through. Another pair of jeans is designed so that when Cliff sits in his recliner, the pliers fall out; I find them a few days later when I vacuum (I'm sorry, flylady). And then there are the times that he simply forgets to remove them from a pocket, and I find them when I wash.
Pliers aren't that expensive, so I figured out a solution: I ordered ten (count 'em, ten) pairs of pliars from Sears. I let Cliff take one; I have the other nine pliers in safe keeping.