Library Notes
March 28, 2004
By Pansy Hundley, Librarian.
So, you’ve been waiting all week to work on this mower again. Mr. Taylor feels a wee bit bad that he let me do this all by myself. BUT! Not bad enough that he called and said "I’ll come right over and finish that job on that lovely mower." No siree, , there I was again, all screwdrivers, pliers assembled, with the book of instructions opened before me on the floor. (You know that I’m kidding, don’t you, Mr. Taylor? Mostly.)
And, no, I was not in my office floor in the kitchen. I thought I might not get all the nuts and bolts on it quickly. (Hah!) And I did not want to cook around it for a week. I used another office, the first floor I came to when the box came into the house.
When it finally came time to get that mower of grass and weeds out of the box, I politely turned it on its’ side and kinda’ spilled it out of the box. Couldn’t run the risk of lifting it out and hurting my back, so that when, if, and maybe I get that mechanical contraption together, I’ll still be able to push it.
With everything out of the box, in the middle of my office floor, I picked up that plastic sack of nuts and bolts and screws and thing-a-mi-jigs and considered it in confusion. And I thought, why in the world didn’t they number those things and tell me what’s what? What in the world is a flange screw? How in the world am I to know what size bolt and washer goes where? Trial and error, I supposed. I tell you, when I run the world, things are going to be done differently!!
I just decided that those wheels could go on first, so they did. And I will not even touch on the trouble they gave me. I do NOT want to hear the men snicker. I didn’t see why they shouldn’t go on first, until I started to put the handle on, at which time one set of wheels had to come off, to get to the holes for the silly handle, on each side. Oh, well, we mechanics learn.
After I had about figured out what screw, nut, bolt and washer went where, I accidentally turned a page back in the very unhelpful instruction book and there was a picture of all those dumb, nuts, bolts, screws and washers, AND, a corresponding number on each. Well, thanks a lot, dudes! You could have put a note in the plastic bag to "see page ___ for guide to assembly". Just you ladies wait until I get the reins in my hands.
Then there was this little matter of a cable running from the engine up the handle, and attaching along the way, finally attaching to the other handle on the handle, if you get my meaning. No, I didn’t get it either. I fiddled and fiddled, ran out of time and pushed all aside to make a path through that "office" to the door.
I politely got me an 800 number for Briggs and Stratton engines off the book and called a bonafide lawnmower mechanic in Corpus Christie, Texas the next day. I asked him why the pull cord would not pull out more than about ten inches, which I had discovered inadvertently. Did it have some sort of safety something on it that needed to come off. He told me that the cable had to be hooked up first, in order to take the brake off the cord. So, the next question was how to do that. He explained and I half-way knew what he was talking about. He was very nice not to make me feel like a dumb woman, and stated that it was very confusing and the book was not too clear. He should probably run for President.
When I went out that night to see if it worked, and it was not working too well, I happened to glance over at an old mower I had setting there. Would you believe that the cable hook-up was the same, I could just look at it. Hot Dog!! But I was out of time again and it was getting dark. The story of my life right now.
Then the Creeping Crud came creeping up on me and I’ve been sick as two dogs. So, that lovely mower can just wait and see if I live or not and we’ll go from there.
If I live and you drive by my house one day and I’m out walking behind that red mower. If that mower is running, actually making a racket, as I push it, I want you to stop and give three cheers! And I shall take a bow.
My sick self shall now mention a new book you can read for this week. Then next week, I may have to enlighten you about this "stuff" I have that’s making me sick as two dogs. If you inquiringly ask, why two dogs, I’ll tell you it’s because one dog could not feel this bad.
Barbara Taylor Bradford, author of "Woman of Substance", written several years ago, has given us a brand-new, continuing saga, of the family of Emma Harte, the heroine of that book. The title is "Emma’s Secret". We have it and you’ll just have to read it to find out what her secret is, I guess, because I’m not telling.
"Paula O’Neill, beloved granddaughter of Emma Harte and the guardian of her vast business empire, believes that everything Emma left to the family is secure. However, beneath the surface, sibling rivalry and discontent flare. Linnet and Tessa, her daughters, are as different as two women can be. One of them wants desperately for the empire to be hers but has a devastating secret that may put her very life in danger.
Into this volatile mix walks Evan Hughes, a young American designer who is looking for Emma Harte, But Emma has been dead for thirty years. And Evan bears an uncanny resemblance to Paula O’Neill. Troubled by Evan’s presence, Paula turns to her grandmother’s recently discovered wartime diaries to find the truth, and Emma comes vividly back to life…….
The decades fall away. It is London in 1940: the Blitz. Emma, working hard under wartime conditions, is also holding her family together as bombs drop, sirens wail, and her sons go off to war. While she struggles with grief, her indomitability, willpower, and strength come to the fore.
As the pages unfurl, Paula discovers the secret Emma took to the grave to protect others, a secret whose repercussions inevitably change lives and may shake a dynasty to its very foundations."