Thursday, December 27th, 2012
So several weeks ago my chainsaw abandoned me in the middle of a job.
I discovered that the fuel line had gone to shit, so I got a new one. No difference.
I discovered that the return line wasn’t much better, I replaced it. No difference.
I replaced the filter, also to no avail.
I tore down the carb (If you can call something the size of a ping pong ball a “Carb”)
I checked the spark, and it was incredible.
Five seconds before flinging the saw in the garbage I decided to yank the engine (if you can call something the size of a beercan an “Engine”) and discovered it had a broken ring. And then I ordered the ring from sears to discover it was not the right animal based on their number. Finally I found a place on Ebay, who mailed me the ring, and it arrived on Christmas eve.
I now know the inside of this chainsaw better than I should, that’s for sure. A bloody nightmare to make all the hoses and tubes and wires and shit go where they’re supposed to go without kinking. But I get it all together and realize I’ve failed to install the inner chain guide, a small washer that goes unde the clutch. As I get it back apart i also realize that the screws holding the oil pump in are missing so I put those on. Then I sit it on the ground and try to start it, and it doesn’t. So I flip the “Kill” switch and it starts on the first pull, and runs like a striped ape.
So I take it BACK apart and flip the kill switch so it’s in the correct position, then put the cover back on, and am just about to stick it in it’s case when I realize I’ve left the filter off, so I take it apart AGAIN and put the filter back in and put the cover on, and then check it to make sure it still starts, and it does, like a maniac.
I will most likely want to futz with the idle some, but basically, I’m good. And tickled to have my chainsaw back, after so damned much time, even though it cost only a couple dollars. I hope to get a couple more years out of it and in the meantime I’mna look for a deal on a Dolmar.
Now I can cut up some of that big wood in the yard into useful-size pieces. Damn, that feels good. Now I’m tempted to buy some old Poulan saws and rehab them now that I have been INSIDE AND OUT OF THE DAMNEED THINGS.
I think it is safe to say, if you decide to go apeshit and shoot up a white hen, or a school, or a post office, your cheese has definitely slid off your cracker. Sane people simply do not arrive at a point where firearms are a solution to any problem except “I don’t have enough firearms”
Not much is being said about the mental health aspect of the situation by anyone in the MSM, but they are focusing on guns plenty enough.
So: What do you do if your particular “issue” is the one that is causing the problem? You try to pass of the blame to someone else.
Since “one flew over the cuckoo’s nest” it has been bad form to “Mistreat” people with mental issues. “They’re just differently sane” or “They march to a different drummer”
if it became the norm to look at people in the light of who might need a check up from the neck up, a powerful lot of things would probably change. Your brain has to be wired wrong to think that violence perpetrated on the innocent is a solution to anything; your brain has to be wired wrong to think that doing something stupid- like creating victim-rich environments- should be doubled-down on, is a good idea. Savage has already pointed out that liberalism is a mental disorder. If we started looking at people with mental disorders and treating or confining them, it wouldn’t be long before we got to Liberals, and frankly, there aren’t enough institutions in the world.
OK, maybe France.
Still: This seems to all click into place for me. Anyone else? Blame the guy with a gun because the nutcase is kida like me and they might look at me next.
He was already gone.
I was young. Dad and his brothers, and some other family members, carried him to a remote grave, it being an old cemetery whose oldest residents had been driven there behind a horse. No accomodation for motor vehicles had ever been made, or was planned. Some markers were wood. As I watched him do this, I knew that his turn would come sooner rather than later- he had already been left for dead three times in his life, and all the time he had was borrowed.
When Dad arrived at this age, Mom began asking him what he wanted for Christmas. She knew that the best time to ask was first thing in the morning after the alarm woke them, he would give an answer before thinking about it. And he did:
It was all he asked for, for Christmas, those last four years of his life, and he got four. I think the Creator felt he still had things to do that needed doing.
In four years I will be the age my Father was when he died. I am healthier and have more access to better healthcare, so I may live longer, but even so, I have arrived at the moment when I wonder what the Creator has in store for me, the jobs he wants meto do before I’m done.