So, back to the shop

Cliff was hard at work on the added wing to his shop, but it was April; it was the weekend.  We had bought a Honda Gold Wing the previous year.  

So we went for a ride.  The matching Gold Wing shirts we wore that day had been given to us the weekend before by my good friend Joanna, who lives near Washington, DC; she had come for a visit.  

We decided to go to Versailles to visit Cliff's aunt.  His sister Charlene and her husband rode along with us on their Harley.  We had a good visit with the aunts.  Cliff's cousin, Darryl, told us about a scenic road to take on the way home that would be a wonderful motorcycle ride, and Aunt Gertrude said, "Oh, you don't want to take that old crooked road."  She didn't understand that crooked roads are fun on a motorcycle.  

The next day was Easter Sunday, and we rode our motorcycle to Church where we heard the New Life Choir sing.  Life was good.
  
Four days later, Cliff was in the hospital.  


(to be continued)

How long is our driveway?

That's the question a reader asked in a comment on the last entry.  So I trudged down to the road at sunup, stood at the beginning of our drive, and took a picture.  

You can see our single-wide trailer house peeking out from behind the barn.  Yes, I live out behind the barn, which reminds me of the Little Jimmy Dickens song that is so much fun to sing when I get my guitar out.   




My pappy used to tan my hide, out behind the barn

He taught me to be dignified, out behind the barn
     But when he took his strap to me,
     And turned me down across his knee
He sure did hurt my dignity, out behind the barn

   I got my education out behind the barn
   And I'm not foolin' no siree
   Passed each examination, out behind the barn
   But it almost made a wreck out of me

I smoked my first cigarette, out behind the barn
And that's a day I won't forget, out behind the barn
     I got sick, you should have seen,
     How that terbaccy turned me green
I almost died from nicotine, out behind the barn

I met a pretty girl one day, out behind the barn
She wanted me to stay and play, out behind the barn
     She taught me how to kiss and pet,
     And that's a game I won't forget
'Cause we still play that same game yet, out behind the barn

I wish that I could go again, out behind the barn
And do some things that I did then, out behind the barn
     Now you may think it ain't no fun,
     To be a poor old farmer's son
But you just don't know what all I've done, out behind the barn

But I digress.  Since I was down by the road anyhow, I took a shot of our two-story house where Cliff's sister and her son are living.  

That's the house we moved into in 1975.  We moved behind the barn in 2008.  In the background is Cliff's shop; on the right is our old garage.  Cliff's sister parks on one side, and Cliff parks our seldom-used pickup on the other side.  

I was standing in front of the barn to take this shot.  

Here you have Cliff's shop:  his getaway, the doghouse if he's in trouble, the place he works on tractors and implements, and I'd venture to say his second home.  It's also where we hold family gatherings.  There are a few stories I could tell about how and why we had the shop built, and I will tell them, one of these days.