It's raining brake pads!

Or, the alternate title: What the hell? WTF?

Sunday morning the kids were upstairs and they heard a strange sound that kind of startled them, like a bunch of Lincoln Logs sliding down the roof. My oldest son went out to investigate on the side of the house where they heard the noise, and lo and behold, he found a small box and oddly shaped discs lying on the lawn. That’s right, there were brake pads on the wet grass near a sopping wet, flat, torn box that read “… Disc Brake Pads”.

I have no idea what this was doing on our roof. But I guess all of the rain with no sun to dry out the box caused it to finally slide down and make an appearance.

Who put it there? When did they put it there? How long has it effing been there?! But most importantly, why would anyone put a box of brake pads on the roof?!? It doesn’t make any kind of sense. I am still baffled, and I don’t like being baffled.

We get our brake pads changed at a local shop when we need that done. My kids and I know nothing about installing these things. I can barely change a tire ‘cause the jack and I just don‘t get along. All I’m good at is checking fluid and keeping levels up to par. Anything more than that when it comes to automobiles would be like trying to perform brain surgery. And no one wants me poking around in anyone’s brain.

When my ex stopped by I showed him the evidence and watched his reaction very closely. After all, he did live in this house at one time. But no, he was just as surprised as we were. He said they weren’t new, but that’s all he could tell me. I’m so sorry he couldn’t get any use out of them.

Well, hell. That leaves the roofers under suspicion. A few years ago they were up there daily for about a week, maybe longer. They were the “budget” roofers. They dropped cigarette butts on our lawn. One guy even looked like a pirate. He had tattoos everywhere, wore a bandana on his head and had a nipple ring. All he was missing was an eye patch, a sword and… brake pads?

I give up trying to solve this mystery. I’m afraid of heights or I’d see if there’s anything more on the roof I should know about.

What else could possibly be up there? Hoses? Belts? The rest of the car in pieces stuffed down my chimney?

Let it rain, let it pour

Is it raining where you are? It’s been raining and drizzling here all week long. I haven’t seen the sun shine since Monday, so when it makes a big comeback the shock to the system just might kill me. I wait with anticipation.

It always rains on Memorial Day Weekend. Only this year it started even sooner. Good thing my ex was wise enough to plan the big yearly camping/fishing event for the following weekend. I mean, good thing he has to work Memorial Day this year, for the children’s sake. They really rough it out there so I hope the weather is nice. Hopefully this time around they won’t come home drenched right down to their underwear, with bags of sopping wet clothes. The smell is enough to knock a grown man to the floor, let alone little ol’ me. And as for me, I can’t be away from civilization for nearly a week. I would go effing nuts without a shower, internet and soft place to lay awake nights wishing I could sleep. I have to admit, though, one night away from the hubbub of my home would be a nice getaway. But after that first night it’s just like Chinese water torture. Well, that is old and extremely outdated (replacing “Chinese” with “Guantanamo”).

I’m not complaining because we desperately need this. I guess I can tolerate puddles and mud everywhere if it means there’s a chance of not having another horrible fire season. We’ve had a drought for years now. I think it could be traced back to when Bush was first elected, but the last thing I want is angry Republicans getting all up in my space (sarcasm). I swear it gets more and more like California here every year, but our fires don’t seem quite as bad to the public. We don’t usually have national news reporters crawling around on the scene, broadcasting the sights, and the sounds of locals describing in great detail how they couldn’t save the chickens.




Poor chickens, their lives were so short. They barely lived.




This is a backfire, proving that evil really can be fought with evil.




This fire is still fresh in my memory. Two summers ago it burned for a few days before it was contained. I want to give props to the Volunteer Firemen (and others who came in to help). It’s good to know my donations weren’t piddled away on beer and poker games. Thank you all for giving us our highway back. It’s our only connection to the real world. Without it we are lost - just simple valley folk mumbling to ourselves about how times were so much better in the old days. Wait… We do that anyway.

Remember when we could drive twice as far on a tank of gas?

Oh yeah, those were the days.

Remember when mescaline was all the rage, and we could run naked in the hills without a care?

Oh yeah, those were the days.




Remember when 38 Special was a cool band?

Oh yeah, I’m sure glad those days are behind us.