WOP ©

WOP… WOP… WOP… WOP… WOP… WOP… WOP… WOP…

No, this not an anti Italian protest post, it’s the sound the blades of my new fan as it goes around and around.

Why is it everything has to be bigger now but the cars to bring them home with?
When I was a kid, they used to have these HUGE twenty-five foot long cars in the sixties and seventies now they look more like five to six feet long.
The fans back then had six-inch sharp steel blades and the first ones had no covering around them.
It took a couple of kids to loose some fingers before they decided to put a cage around it, not that it did much to stop kids from sticking their fingers through it.
I remember looking at it as a kid as it swayed back and forth with its luring hum calling out to me to come and play the “stop the blades with your finger” game with it.

The fan that I used to have in my bedroom was 36 inches wide before and this one is 48 inches wide.
The only reason I am putting this fan up is because my brother bought 3 new 52-inch fans with remotes to replace all the ones he had installed in my mother’s house two years ago.
He was going to throw them out but I stopped him and cleaned them up then hung them this weekend in my place.
My parents never used them; they have AC.
My brother likes gadgets and toys for boys so he wanted them.
My parents didn’t care either way but my father got mesmerized with the fact he could turn the lights on by remote and let my brother have his way.
So he ordered me to install the new fans last summer, which I did and brought the new/old ones home to my place.

I must admit they looked really nice and even my mother thought they were snappy.
That night the old people went to bed and after watching the TV my father took the remote and shut off the lights.
Well he tried to.
My father is technologically challenged even with, dare I say it, a remote.
My mother on the other hand, you show her once and she’s off to the races.
My father hit every button on the remote and finally shut the lights off but….he turned the fan on.

The next day my mother phoned me and was telling me how my father lay in bed with the remote making the lights go on and off or the fan spinning front and back in various speeds.
Then she asked me if I could come over and shut the fan off because he couldn't get it to stop and it was to cold in their room so they slept in the guest room.

I lay there in bed looking up at the fan as it spun its five guillotines around in a circle wondering if I should have put up two cables instead of one, Hmmm?
I don’t know how I am going to sleep under this airplane propeller as it’s hovering six feet above me.

After finishing the fan in my room I put another fan in the middle bedroom in case I have guests and it's to hot and the third one had this medieval look about it, wrought iron grey with an oriental amber shade on the bottom so I decided it would look great in living room with the rustic look I have happening in there now.

I took down the chandelier I had in the livingroom and then installed the fan up on the ceiling and I must admit, it gave the room the crown it lacked.
I like sitting in the living room at night sometimes to read a book amongst the jungle of plants I have growing in there.

I took the chandelier and cleaned it up.
It used to be my mother's but she tired of it one day and replaced it with a new one.
I took her old one and ground it down to bear metal then repainted it white and put back the crystal teardrops it used to have danging.
I think it looked better this way, better than that the ugly brass color it was before.
I took it to my bedroom and hung it right there, above the TV as you walk in.
So now I have a chandelier in my bedroom, a fan in my living room and a 52 TV in my dinning room.
Sounds about perfect to me.

Later that night I went into the living room to look at the plants and to stare out the window while I lost myself in some deep thoughts.
I hit the switch to light up my little oasis and I was still standing there in the dark, I looked up at the ceiling to see if the light was on and it was.
The amber shade is so fucken dark it barely shines through and instead reflects it up to the ceiling.
That’s great for ambiance if I am alone with someone and want to be romantic but it really sucks to sit and just watch the world around me.
That’s life I guess, you just can’t have it all.

After getting the fans and chandelier hung I went over to my mother’s and sat for a while talking about what we had to pick up on our shopping trip this week coming.
I have a lot to get.
I am painting the upstairs this weekend and trying to get as much stuff crammed in before my guest arrives in three weeks.
While she’s here I don’t think I will get much done and might leave town for a couple of days.

When it was time for me to go she got up and gave me a container with cookies that my aunt made and told me I could have them because she didn’t like these cookies.
Now people, when someone tells you they don’t like cookies, alarm bells should start ringing but I took them and thanked her instead.

When I got home I tried a cookie and they were fucken great, moist and sweet, fruity with the little bits of fruit I could see and taste.
They looked like chopped up dates or something, cool, I ate about ten of them while watching TV.
Later on that evening I sat by the computer to write a post and read a few blogs and I started blotting.
I get that way sometimes after eating onions or eating pasta and I had spaghetti for lunch so I grabbed some TUMS for the tummy hoping it would help.
My stomach started rumbling and I ran for the washroom barely making it there.
WTF, the pasta wasn’t that bad, a little spicy maybe but it shouldn’t be effecting me like this.
I walked out of the washroom only to stop at the head of the stairs and rush back in, I had no idea what was going on with me.

When I thought it was safe to come downstairs I made my way to the computer and sat there waiting to see if I had to run again.
I picked up the phone and called my mother to tell her I was sick and it might have been the spaghetti we ate for lunch.

She told me she was fine and so was my father.
Hmmmm
She asked me if I ate anything else and I told her no, just some of the cookies my aunt gave her.
She said it was probably them because my aunt chops up stewed prunes and puts them in to make her regular and that’s why she doesn’t like them.
Even one keeps her in the washroom all day.
Great, I ate ten of them.

I remember when cars were big and fans were small.
Now I can’t get my big fucken fan in the trunk of my little shitty car.

Have a nice day

Walker