I guess many of you probably won’t be surprised, but I went back to the fellow I sold the truck to and traded him out of it.

The truck, in this case, is the 1992 Ford that I had since it was almost new. Besides, he needed the money more than the truck and, it would appear, I had more money than sense — at least temporarily. Since I am now broke and will need to find a way to pay for several pressing bills, I hope I am well comforted by its presence.

I parked it in front of the house for now, somehow oddly pleased at the thought of getting it back home. Of course, when I went to pick it up, one tire was flat and several of the lugnuts were loose; it didn’t appear to have been driven and the bed was full of leaves. Even so, it fired right up. The fellow told me that he was glad to see it go. “That truck never passed a gas station it didn’t like,” he said after we finished the deal. “It literally gets gallons to the mile.”

Of course, he doesn’t share my sentimental attachment to the truck, either. To him, it was just another beat up old wood hauler. Sometimes it is hard to see through a rough exterior to the gem within, especially when said gem is setting one back about $100 per tankful. Connections with our past never come cheap.

The other truck is still in the shop, in this case the junkyard, awaiting a new exhaust manifold and some other attention. I’m sure it will all work out in the long run. I’m just not sure how. A person with two-too-many vehicles shouldn’t be buying more, at least not in a normal kind of world.

But there’s nothing normal about my little world. If every decision I made made sense, then life would eventually get pretty boring and predictable.

Anyway, after the battle with the cold and the jokes last week about getting sick to finish the living room, I actually came down with strep throat. It’s a good thing that I am not superstitious. Even so, it’s not good to joke about getting sick, especially when I really get sick. It’s fine the rest of the time.

I still managed to finish most of the Sheetrock and hang everything but two little areas on each end of the room. Those should be done by the time this column is printed, leaving only the painting to do.

Sometime after writing last week, my father was back in the hospital. By now I am wondering if the treatment options he is being given are accurate. A person with his problems is likely to sustain certain difficulties, but spending more time in the hospital than out seems a bit hard to believe. At least he got to stay in Galax, Va. this time, instead of being sent to the Veterans Administration facility in Salem. That makes it much easier for me to visit him. However, I opted against doing that after being diagnosed with strep throat. Instead, I spent a good amount of time resting to try and recuperate.

Unlike previous ailments, I didn’t really feel that sick, just really weak and tired. Maybe my body was sending me a message. After sleeping through most of Friday evening and doing little or nothing on Saturday, I figured that was enough rest for anyone.

I did manage to get the furnace removed and sent off to the scrapyard owner, who plans to use it in a home he owns somewhere. I hope he can get it all to work, but if he can’t, at least it isn’t in my way any more.

In its place will be a new closet space, just as soon as I get around to fixing it back. I’m sure it’ll happen between now and never. I have so many interests and so many things that I want to do, but it seems like time to get things done is so very short. I wonder if everyone’s life seems that way?

After this living room project and closet thing are done, I hope to get my firewood up and be done with work for a little while. A couple gave me some firewood that I still haven’t gone to cut because of other priorities; I hope it is still there when I do have time to go and get it.

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