Surprise! WE have a NEW FEATURE !

Surprise, Surprise, What is It?

Surprise, surprise!  WE have a new feature on Blogger!  What is it?

A black and white  Easter egg?   A meteorite?  A smurf hiding? Is that a hat? snow? Something an alien left behind? 

No, but we can now add pages to our Blog...a feature we LIKE.

  At Incoming Bytes we have taken this opportunity to introduce the page :  "What you see is what you Get!"  which will be exactly that.
What you see is what we get.  See the  new Title' at the top of the page? Click on it!

I hope you enjoy it. Our flagship page on "What you see is what you Get!" features some wonderful pictures of work done by Mother Nature herself--that beautiful, unpredictable  joker.

We will  be adding content on "What you see is what you Get"  from time to time.  Let us know what you think.  You can add comments just as you would with the main page.  Don't forget to follow, subscribe by feed or email, and above all,.......

 Enjoy! 

pssst.........It's really a huge, perfectly egg-shaped piece of basalt--with snow on it.  I guess it weighs about a hundred lbs. without the snow cap.

Is that Incoming I hear?

Tales of the Supernatural: The Pearl Stickpin

 From time to time at Incoming Bytes we are compelled to explore the unusual, the weird, and the downright strange world of fiction.  I really like fiction.  I have to admit, this is just plain weird, but it's spring, weather's weird anyway,  so  I hope you enjoy it. 

   Tales of the Supernatural:  The Pearl Stickpin

It seemed to me that the woman was not a real woman at first, she looked kind of rough around the edges just a bit,  but  she wore a woolen coat and a grey pillbox hat with a nice white pearl stickpin in it.

 A tantalizing bit of evidence,  in retrospect, anyway.

 Not appearing to be a real 'woman'  or 'lady' --well, no matter.    She appeared at the door on a Tuesday,  and it was 7:00 o'clock on July 7th.  My birthday, too. July 7th.  I forget the year.  I just go by what Sam told me. He's my older brother, dead of the pox  too, just a bit of an idiot sometimes.  He even drove the tractor in the creek when he was 8 and started crying. Pop  had to get old Mose  from down the 4th  to pull it out.  It cost two bits  and he got whupped.  

She squinted up at me.  "It's about time you and your idiot brother answered the door. Do you care to tell me what you are still  doing in my house? This is still my house, after all."  

She looked at me kind of strangely.  Like she knew me or something.  How did she know I had an idiot brother?  I wanted to keep that quiet so I could use his driver's license.

I said, "Lady, I don't have any idea where you're from, but I lived here for 77 years, my idiot brother died of the 'scootch 67 years ago. I'm just guessing but that wasn't even so far off of the truth, considering everything.

  After all, I had stayed right there in the old farmhouse for 77 years.  Born here, ain't leavin'.     That's why the neigbours call me Old Gus, because I am old.  Seventy-seven, so they say.  I don't have a birth certificate -or a driver's license either, but they never asked me for one. Not in 67 years. I kept an old business card in the visor holder instead,  It said  "Lunatic Renovation Service"  from down in Hansenville, and when it wore out I used my brother's license.   It's got itself worn out too,  now-- dog-eared.  It was my father's license  back when, too.  No wonder he used it, no idiot boy can get a driver's license so ya' gotta get one from 'yer old man or somethin',  somehow.

"Are you sure?" the woman asked.  "You don't know me, do you, sonny?...How come you you're looking so old?" 

"I got the scootch, like my idiot brother, he died of it already, 67 years ago, " I answered without thinking, it wasn't her business anyway, but I blabbed that to old Mose so often it didn't matter a whole lot,  "so he's dead an' gone  anyway".

  

Now she really  had me nervous because I have to admit I didn't know who she was. I guess I forgot.  She looked about thirty-five years old and had green eyes.  Tantalizing green eyes.   I got green eyes too, like a green-eyed shot-back ghost-colored  dog.

"I'm 'yer maw,  don'cha even know 'yer own maw?"  She said. "It's 'yer birthday, boy".

 

"I don't got any maw or old lady, she died when I was born,"  I said, " that's what the old man told me and my idiot brother and that's the truth, I swear". 

She sat down in the rocker,  a brown maple one. It groaned.

 "This was my chair when you was in my belly," she said, frowning. " and after you boys got the pox  when you was six, an' no bigger'n a pup,  you sat right here on my knee, and I rocked you right to sleep good,  you was turned cold, too,   now you can't  remember your Maw.  That figgers."

"I don't want to argue none, I just don't remember" I said. 

 "So  you're  my Maw, want some tea?"

"No,"  she said,  "Tea gives me the shivers,  just like visiting live folks." 

She got up and walked through the closed door.   I shook my head in wonderment.  She kept the hat on but left the white pearl stick pin stuck in the wood door.  I don't know why she does that.   

I ain't  never touching that stick-pin.  It gives me the shivers too. Like visiting live folks. 

Funny.  I remember I wanted to live 'till I was old enough to get a real driving license.

##

Is that incoming I hear?

Disaster fix: Tile a While

Tile a while...Wall

At Incoming Bytes mayhem and destruction happens once in a while, giving me cause to scratch my head in wonderment at why things happen, mixed in with a bit of    anger and hair-pulling pragmatic rage frustration.
 Savvy and financially strapped homeowners all realize that at times, it seems things fall apart faster   than they can be repaired with  a capable home-renovation crew of twenty caffeine-boosted bubblegum chewing workpeople. 

Such was the exterior drywall surface  right beside an exterior door of mine;  you got it, the door to freedom for my demolition-team  pups.
 The first time it happened, the door trim was chewed off and shredded, the adjacent drywall was almost non-existent, and exterior insulation was torn out--all the way to the exterior sheathing. A chunk of the door jamb itself was missing.
It was midnight, and a major social gathering was scheduled for the next day, so it was a night watch
panic repair -including a careful  cutout of  remaining shredded wood on the door jamb, and the necessary replacement,  fill,  and paint.
  On the wall,  I cut out the damaged drywall completely,  re-insulated the wall cavity,  installed new drywall,  taped, filled, sanded, and top-coated again, sanding  all the way to- perfection.
Objective: To finished painting and trim, included, that is!   Invisible, perfect job, finished  at 3:00 am- or was it 4:00am.
 I am fast and good.   A competent workman when I have to be.   Kudos to me.  Used the wife's hairdryer to accelerate paint drying too.  Cool.    Sometimes it's just good to be handy.
Pups forgiven,  next day, party is  on! 
" Smells like fresh paint in here " someone comments.....

  That was the first time.   The second time, the lower cross-buck of  the $400.00  (1979 price !)   interior cedar door was  also chewed away, damage beyond repair. Door trim conveniently removed,chewed to bits and broken too, repaired  door jamb shredded again,  and drywall again seriously damaged.  After only a couple of hours in absentia.  We're never leaving home again. Haywire pups.    
It is surprising what you learn.  We did not know that interior air so carefully filtered with a modern air-conditioning system  could  turn so  unprintable blue.  I should have pictures or kept a Mason Moonshine jarful of the blue stuff  for proof.

   *sigh.  Sabbatical required. Cool down.  Cooler heads almost prevail.   Decisions necessary.  Replace the whole door unit.  Only seven hundred bucks.   Install the new door unit, jamb, new lock set  and all.   Insulated steel door this time.   Repair the drywall again, prime and paint, install new interior trim,  job well done!  Party on! 

It does, however, seem that  Tilly the Tall and Ebony the Short have OCD  a  psychiatric compulsion history of wanting out NOW, walls in the way, doors closed or not . Why?

 A brief diversion  will reveal to the aware  that whenever  Mr. Buck and Ms Doe,  Willie the wolf,  Charlie Coyote, Peter Rabbit, Mega-moose   or  Bear himself happen to appear close at hand in the  Great Outdoors, things happen.   If they even  smell like they're within a country mile or three,    the friendly pooches want to see which of their friends is invading.
  Human visitors of the door- knocker kind,  a casual pickup truck or  touristy  turn-arounders a half mile away, the curious,  dilapidated lost seeking directions  or not, they all inspire the same effect.
Our research proves that  Sam the Weasel, Murray Mink  and Pierre le Stink  don't help either, five times out of five.   The dedicated dogs  want out  or the innocent handiest wall is doomed.

Off comes the broken trim. Again.  Paint layers scratched off. Again.  Enough of that. 
Tape the joints, sand, prime and paint it, and replace shredded, broken trim. Innocent pups  are required watch judiciously as repairs are made.
 Right, that oughta'  suffice -- until next time. And the time after that!  
What is the answer? High-strung pets may deface walls repetitively.  I have resigned myself to that distinct possibility.     
 

Ka-ching!  Think stainless steel, bullet-proof glass overlaid with ceramic tile. Scratch-proof.  Right over top of the nice, perfect drywall repair. Perfect protracted thought.  I did it.

Ready to Grout!

 Yesterday I tiled a while and put an end to scratches, bite marks and destruction. More than half-way up the wall for good measure.  Ha! 










I can see it now.   I'll be longing for the good old days.   Tape the joints, sand, prime and paint it, and replace shredded, broken trim.  I can do it with my eyes closed and one arm tied behind my back, midnight or not. I've got experience.
 Right, that will suffice -- until next time. And the time after that!  High-strung pets may deface walls repetitively.  May? Will? Did!   Emergency repair withdrawal, cold turkey.
What is the answer?   Remind myself again. Real life. Haul out the wallet. Head to the building center.

Ka-ching!   Ceramic tile. Scratch-proof.  Bite-proof. Woof-proof.   Tile a while and put an end to scratches, *bite marks and destruction.  I'm recommending it to everyone. Party's on!


*Note to myself.  Level surface grout so there's no place  to insert teeth, fangs or claws.  

 I've got'em beat now.  Maybe.


Is that incoming I hear?