The Rural Voice, 1985-09, Page 72GISELE IRELAND
Crossed stars: horoscope
gets it half right
When a man sees flowers and looks
around for the funeral, he needs more
than a kiss and a kind word to make
his outlook brighter. Fortunately
Super Wrench gets down in the
dumps rarely. When he does, we are
very aware of it. His appearance is
the first clue. He will have to be
evicted from bed with threats, and
when he does arise, he faces us with
his hair standing straight up, his shirt
buttoned askew, and will have missed
the razor. His eyes resemble a vacant
lot, and all verbal exchanges are done
on a grunting level.
Super Wrench recently started the
day in this condition, and the reason
for it was parked in the machine shed.
He was attempting to get the combine
operative, and the "old girl" wasn't
having any. The previous day she had
spewed oil all over him and mangled
every belt he wrestled onto the
pulleys. Super Wrench was having
problems psyching himself into tying
his boots on and going out for
another round.
This was clearly an occasion when
a toe -curling kiss and a kind word
would not be enough. To bolster his
sagging spirits, I read him his
horoscope for the day. It was a
delight.
Emphasis on optimism and the ability
to reach beyond the usual expecta-
tions. You will overcome odds, more
people will be drawn to you and
you'll strike chords of universal ap-
peal.
He treated me to a weak smile
when I encouraged him to lace up his
boots and face his nightmare. With a
prediction like that, how could he
lose?
I was taking the first load of laun-
dry out of the washer when I heard
the truck roar out of the yard. Ob-
viously he needed more belts. When
Super Wrench returned, he left the
truck running and came into the
house with a handful of bills he had
collected from the mailbox. Our com-
bined moaning over the amounts ow-
ing were cut short by a grinding noise
from outside. We ran out just in time
to witness the demise of the driver's
door against the corner of the house,
and were treated to the sight of the
truck lurching back and removing its
tailgate against a stout maple tree.
Super Wrench leapt into action and
stopped the truck. He wasn't exactly
speechless, but then again I wouldn't
repeat the speech he made. I am sure,
though, that had I been responsible
for the mutilation of the truck, it
would have been parked in the yard
for a suitable period of time to allow
friends and neighbours to see it and
make comments. As the omnipotent
one had done it, it was dispatched to
the body shop in town posthaste.
Mind you, I did the only sensible
thing under the circumstances. I kept
my mouth shut.
Super Wrench came back from
town and found a battery which he
was forced to put into the truck that
had been destined for the junkyard.
The body shop would take a few days
to find a used door to fit the wounded
truck. He revved up the worn-out
motor and took the old warrior to the
shed.
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1
1 was hanging out the first line of
clothes when Super Wrench barrelled
out of the shed in the old truck. I
waved at him frantically, but to no
avail. He drove right over the bicycle
in front of the shed. He got out,
threw the bike over to the side, and
went for more belts.
Our youngest daughter and son
were just finished the chores and were
laughingly making their way out of
the barn. I heard my daughter call to
her brother, "The last one to the
house is a wimp," and she ran for her
bike. She picked it up by the handle
bars and was off. Our son picked his
bike up by the handle bars, and that
was all he got. The rest lay there in a
deformed heap. He glanced up at me
with fire in his eyes, and I just shook
my head. All I had wheeled around
that morning was the laundry basket.
His legs churned up the dust on his
way to the shed. Super Wrench was
not in residence.
Serving lunch to the warring fac-
tions was not as bad as I thought it
would be. Super Wrench was
apologetic about having destroyed his
son's mode of transportation and our
son was abject over having left it right
in front of the truck. When the sun
had set over the shed, the combine
was accepting belts more gracefully
and had stopped spouting oil all over.
Super Wrench had overcome at least
some of the odds, just like his
horoscope had predicted, but he had
failed to strike a chord of universal
appeal, at least according to his son.
Before retiring we were reading the
daily paper and Super Wrench was
getting his chuckles from the cartoons
when I spotted his horoscope for the
following day.
Emphasis on domestic adjustment
that could include change of marital
status, or residence. Key is
diplomacy.
I tore it out and handed him the rest
of the paper. No telling what havoc
he might create with a prediction like
that.❑
Gisele Ireland is a pork producer
from Bruce county and has a regular
column in The Rural Voice.