The deferred maintenance projects at my ranch in
Wyoming are killing me.
This summer, we trenched eight-foot deep
footing drains around the house and replaced water
lines, pressure tanks and pumps supplying the
outbuildings.
We could have postponed rebuilding the sun
decks and stairs had my nephew and his fiancée
chosen a venue other than the family homestead for
their Labor Day wedding.
The newlyweds will be living in the apartment
above the garage, once I finally hook up the water.
In early August, the entire yard looked more like
the trenches of World War I during a drought than
the Pass Creek foothills.
Amazingly, the bride and groom seemed
oblivious it appeared they had scheduled their
celebration at the gates of hell.
As I knelt in the bottom of a trench
replacing the well foot-valve, Cathryn, the bride,
walked by carrying a bucket-full of dead flies and
mouse droppings harvested from her soon-to-be first
home.
“Good morning,” she chirped.
My mouth fell open.
As she cheerfully skipped back to the
apartment to re-fill her bucket I wondered if nephew
Taylor understood he was about to score a trophy
wife.
I tell you this so you understand the pressure I was
shouldering.
With the wedding one week away, we
frantically poured a concrete pad at the bottom of
the deck stairs.
Sensing we were behind schedule, Liam, my
four-year-old grandson, jumped in to help.
There are those special grandfathers who
always interact with their grandchildren in a
positive, instructive manner, but none of those were
available.
The terms of endearment from this cranky old
veterinarian were limited to “No!” “Get back!” and
“Drop that!”
We finished the pour and while the concrete cured,
we worked on the bannisters.
A few minutes later, I glanced over my
shoulder and spotted Liam re-troweling our fresh
concrete.
“Liam!” I screamed.
He froze, dropped his trowel and his lower
lip began quivering.
Without a word, he slunk to the Bobcat
bucket, collapsed and cried.
I felt bad.
His dad went to console him and I turned back
to the railing.
Five minutes later, Liam recovered and began
using a stick to poke holes in the backside of the
hardening concrete.
I shook my head in defeat and this brings me
to my point.
Ruling class politicians are as obsessed with
shoveling money from the treasury as four-year-olds
are with wet concrete. American citizens contributed
a record 1.48 trillion tax dollars the first
half of FY 2016, yet it was not enough and it will
never be. A
progressive politician’s power comes from spending
money and they have spent 20 trillion dollars more
than they had in the treasury.
Vote your checkbook.
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