Murray Lives!

Les came over this morning and accomplished two big things:
1) Fixed the lawnmower. I was quite sure it couldn't be the solenoid, since I had just replaced it last year. Well, it was the solenoid--a bolt had shaken loose and needed to be tightened down onto the frame to "ground" it. Totally unrelated to stalling out. Hopefully, this is the last you'll hear of the Murray saga.
2) Helped carry to storage all the big furniture that I couldn't handle alone--and he brought a trailer with a ramp, so there were no tailgates to get over! Les is a wiry bastard, stronger than he looks, and maybe smarter.

You discover some things while packing up:
* I wondered where that heavy duty flashlight had got off to! (It was behind the big TV in the entertainment ctr.)
* I gave up trying to find my plaque from the 1995 State Championship team when I moved into the AD's office (it was inside this little cubby in my early 70s Mediterranean style console radio/phonograph--no IDEA how it got there!) Fortunately, I had enough memorabilia, certifications and stuff that the wall looked okay. IMHO.
* Amid the disgraceful clutter of my desk, the best Chinese fortune ever: * A bunch of keys. Actually a bunch of bunches of keys. I don't feel right throwing away a key--I may need to get inside again, even if I don't know the lock it goes to. (Remind me to tell you sometime the story of the key deposit and the free sofa.)
* A shadowy nostalgia lurks behind every picture frame, underneath every piece of furniture--oh, nevermind, that's the original color of the wall, or carpet, shielded from eight years of grime and dust.
* Beyond the dustballs and spiderwebs, I wonder if I am doing the right thing? I'll know in three and a half months, I guess. Still, I plan to make a go of it, what with my inexhaustible wisdom and power, and all.

In blog news, I have been added to http://www.expat-blog.com. I find myself continually returning to read the adventures and hardships of those who travel abroad.

The Peachtree Street Shuffle

Okay, so I finally made it to the consulate in Atlanta, after my original plans were delayed by the Murray incident (not Murray the Cop from The Odd Couple, no, but you knew that). There was no specific appointment and no great hurry, as I did not need an interview (I suppose because it's an SMOE job), and was told by every source the process should take a week.

I found a parking lot with spaces three blocks north of the embassy building, International Tower, in a huge plaza on Peachtree Street, about 30 feet from a MARTA subway stop. I am ashamed to say in never occurred to me to use that method. To be fair, I would have to drive 10 or 15 miles to get to a bus stop, which an hour later would get me to the south terminal subway station.

So I was stuffing the parking box with money when two young guys walked by, staring at me. Turns out to be one of my favorite old students and his younger brother--one of the hellion twins during that era at my old, old school. Small world, huh? Yeah, as I always say, but I wouldn't want to paint it.

Blake has graduated from law school and on his way to an Army reserve appointment--one of the top five or so students I've ever taught, as a total package. Got a 5 on the AP Enviro Exam the second year it was ever offered (first time I taught it). I'm kicking myself I didn't think to give him the blog address.

I make my muggy, sweaty way along the city streets to the International Tower, fifth floor. A few other people were sitting in the office waiting area, at least two of which had to be fellow NSETs; they didn't seem to want to chat, so I filled out the form, etc.

There is some little difficulty over the SASE, self-addressed-stamped-envelope, that I brought. The young lady I talked to on the phone did not mention that it needed to be a Priority Mail envelope. Well, turns out I didn't even need to bring one, since she had one right there, in exchange for USD 7.50. This might not be the case at all consular offices. Eventually got it all squared away.

She tells me they'll send it out tomorrow. We shall see, eh? After it was clear all I had left to do was leave, I said chong mai kam-sa-hamnida, which drew a smile from the girl behind the glass and delighted laughter from an older couple who had come in behind me. I asked them if I got it right, and the man answered, "Yes. Perfectly." Of course it's just four words.

The Parable of Murray, the Riding Lawnmower

Ah, the joys of being a homeowner! Three-quarters through cutting the grass, the mower stalled while going through the thick patch in the drain field (much as I loved her, I have to differ with Mrs Bombeck--the grass is greener over the drain field, not the septic tank), and wouldn't restart. Hopefully charging the battery will fix 'er right up.

Cutting the grass is a one and a half hour item at 150 Boone, plus trimming ... plus, it turns out I don't really enjoy doing it, but I'm too Scottish to pay someone else. It was a fairly expensive model, a Murray 12.5 HP, 40" cut, but I've replaced a lot of parts, had USD 300 work done on it, and it still leaks oil. On top of that, it was leaving a rut as it cut, though I tried to adjust it.

Funny thing is, it has simply sat in the garage since exactly two weeks ago, when it did a bang-up job--pretty flat, consistent, not seeming to lack in power ...

I wish this were some kind of little fable like the story about the birds on my porch (be sure to read no tail's comment and my response), but I think it's just whining. Still, ruminations on the allegorical value of the Murray are welcome.