Bacon Scrapins – “The big, the small, and the piddly!”
Bacon Scrapins are the little bits of meat left in the greasy fry pan. They’re tasty, but the nutrition needs searching for. This tale is a bacon scrapin.
When we moved into this ‘nine-stop-signs-sized’ community there were some big tasks to be done. Being in my 7th decade, I do not claim any extraordinary wisdom because age alone does not guarantee that. But after many ‘lessons learned’ one of them is to recognize when to call a professional. They’re usually younger, stronger, and have muscles that heal faster. So, for the ‘big job’ of renovations, we called in the pros.
Earlier in the summer, I started relaying some patio stones that had shifted or sunk over the years. I had dealt with the sunken stones, caused by ants. That was a relatively ‘small job’.
I’d managed to put off the last part, fixing the stones that were built up to make the outside retaining wall, until now. The air was getting cooler, the sun was disappearing sooner, and the leaves were at the end of their fabulous fall display, so it was time to get at it. I figured rebuilding a curve of retaining wall was a 2-day, ‘small job’. And, so it was until the realities of geometry struck.
Those who remember grade 7 math know that the shorter the diameter of a circle, the shorter the length of the circumference. In other words, when the outside circle of stones had shifted outward, the diameter had lengthened, and due to someone’s inadequate attempt to repair it in the meantime, the circumference had increased. So now, I had to bring the outside stones back into place and thus the diameter was less.
Removing all the outside border stones, placing them carefully toward the patio’s centre, so I knew the order in which to replace them, was piddly-easy. Levelling the base stones of the outside retaining wall of stones was piddly-easy.
Starting at one end, and placing the top level of stones back in sequence was simple. In fact, when I placed them closer to the inside of the patio, they lined up perfectly – with the notches in the top stones fitting onto their original places over the ridges on the lower stones. This job, so far, was lookin’ good!
Things were going smoothly, except for the ‘8 times stronger’ adhesive sticking to my fingers. Then geometric theory became reality. That last stone didn’t fit. Too long. A shorted diameter (stones closer to the middle) equals a shorted circumference. The last stone was too long. It needed to be cut shorter.
A small job of fixing a wall became piddly. Just have to fit one piddly last stone into the last spot? Nope. Piddly became big. I needed to cut the last stone to fit. I needed a stone-cutting saw. And nope, I don’t own one. I needed a professional. Piddly is suddenly big.
I measured how much had to be cut off, marked the stone, and put it into the car. Off to the nearby hardware/lumber yard. “Yes, we rent stone-cutting saws by the hour or the day.” “No, we don’t have anyone here who cuts stones.” “No, I don’t know of any homes being built nearby, and if there are any masons working in the area.”
As I was driving out of the lumber yard, I checked for traffic coming both ways. What’s that crossing the intersection? It’s a pickup truck with a closed construction trailer on the hitch. Hi-ho, this detective is on his trail. A quick turn and I’m off in pursuit. I’m hoping he’s not heading out of town, because I’m not inclined to track him into the city.
Good luck. I see he’s turned left into the subdivision 2 blocks ahead of me. I’m on the trail – I think. He’s gone. Too many short blocks and corners. I take a chance, fast stop for the sign, and go straight ahead. There he is off to the right. I’m after him. Where the heck is he going? I take the right, see him going left, I’m still after him. He’s now back on the main street and heading to the main intersection of stores. What’s he doing? He’s just travelled in a big, twisty circle.
Luck’s with me. He pulls over to the curb and parks, with the ‘Lone Ranger’, me, right behind him. I wander up to his cab, and casually wait for him to notice me through the driver’s side window. I’m about to ask, but he says, “I’m not taking on any more jobs now. I’m too busy”
I explain my dilemma of a stone that’s too long and needs cutting. Does he have a stone saw in the trailer? He asks, “Where’s the stone?” “In the back of my car.” He hops out, opens the trailer and gases up his stone saw.
It takes 215 pulls, and 3 breaks to get his breath back, (maybe a slight exaggeration) before it fires up. But it’s running. I put the stone down on the grass between the curb and the sidewalk. The noise attracts the homeowner to the sidewalk, and he’s wearing a shirt the colour of, and with the name label of, the hardware store I’d left 10 minutes earlier. We both chuckle at my story so far. They know each other. It seems everyone is taking a break for lunch, at 2:15 PM. Some folks take breaks when they can, not when they want.
5 minutes later my stone is the right length and the saw’s back in the truck. “How much?” I ask. “Ah, it’s nothing. Glad to be able to help” he says. I offer him a bill for a cold one – on me. He says “Thanks!”, and wanders off.
It warms the cockles and gives one a warm comfortable feeling living in a small town, where folks just naturally turn a piddly job into a gesture of generosity.
My hat is off to the long, lean, lanky gentleman of Cedar Rose Homes. “You’re a fine man, sir! Thank you again.”
This tale is a rarity. All the characters are real!
You may email appropriate comments for the writer to thisiswilmot@gmail.com