Friday, January 4, 2008 - Port Gibson MS
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Don't feed the aligators, Natchez Trace Parkway, Southern Mississippi, January 4, 2008
Yes, alligators, up here near Jackson, Mississippi
Occasionally at least; there is a sign at this roadside nature attraction on the Natchez Trace Parkway cautioning one not to feed the normally shy alligators lest they become less shy.
McGivney Tire and the catalytic converter
The mechanic at McGivney Tire Service took good care of me and after overcoming a bit of trouble getting the old exhaust system to mate up with the new catalytic converter saw me on my way in the early afternoon. I made the right decision in getting the catalytic converter replaced. The change in engine performance is dramatic. She can breathe again. I had no idea LD was laboring so seriously trying to blow hot exhaust through a plugged pipe. No wonder the exhaust manifolds turned blue. The engine feels free and easy breathing and runs and accelerates much smoother. And the exhaust manifold leak I've dreaded finding someone willing to fix seems to be non existent. Even the hesitation and stumbling that started this whole round of repairs is largely gone. I'd wager gas mileage is better too. I never would have guessed a partially blocked catalytic converter would have effected performance in so many ways.
Grand Gulf Military Park
Late afternoon, on the Natchez Trace Parkway, headed for toward Natchez, Mississippi, I saw a sign for Grand Gulf Military Park and campground. On a whim I decided to check it out even though it was 12 miles out of my way. Just maybe it would be on the Mississippi river and I'd like that. It's way down a dead end road that indeed stops just shy of the river. I think. It's dark; about 6 pm. When I go by the gates are closed. Darn. I went on by to the end of the road to turn around and when I got back up to the park the crew had the gate open and people in the road waving me down. What's happening? Did the Nuclear power plant up the road let one rip? Naw. They saw LD and me go slowly by and wanted to invite me in. They got me settled and asked me to drop by the museum tomorrow morning to check in. No Wal-Mart for LD and me tonight.
Night camp
Grand Gulf Military Park, Port Gibson, Mississippi
It was the Crickets
Now then: it isn't so much that one way of dying beats another, though that certainly is the case, but rather that when you KNOW the jig could be up any second or any decade -- it's the awareness that's important -- that just might make a difference. I'm like everybody else, I have these moments and then forget, lapsing back into "immortality." But there was a thing that happened in my back yard maybe 18 months before we split from Maryland that hit me as hard as seeing their president drop dead on stage must have hit those graduating seniors.
It was the crickets. I'd gone outside one warm fall evening to shut the garage door and suddenly realized I couldn't hear the crickets! No wait, I could, but only if I turned my head a certain way. Oh God, oh no: I had almost no high-frequency hearing in my right ear, or was it my left? That doesn't matter. The point is, a part of me had shut down permanently. No, it hadn't happened suddenly, but I had finally noticed, and that was hard to take. I'd never again hear crickets like I once had. Never! I walked back to the house in tears. All right, I'm sensitive. But I understood at once what all this meant.