Tree Guy, aka Fence Guy, needs a new sobriquet. I can't call him Go-To Two; sounds like baby talk. Good Guy would apply to every one of the knights in shining armor who have ridden up on their white horses (or tractors or pickups) to my rescue: Joel, Tree Guy, Dennis, Go-To Guy, Tom...they know who they are. For now, I guess I'll call TG my Fix-It Fella.
As good as his word, Fix-It arrived shortly after sunup yesterday on a freezing cold morning. He listened to the truck engine a minute, agreed with my diagnosis of an alternator problem, pulled the faulty part, and was gone; all in half an hour. Later in the afternoon he returned, installed the new part in no time, and charged me a pittance for work that would have had dollar signs flying through the air had the job been done at a garage. "Fire her up," he said. "Let's see if she starts." (Why are ships and cars female?) Well, "she" started right away, ran like a champ, and the battery gauge showed all was well in my world again. Being without a vehicle this far from town is a bit scary; one never knows when an emergency might arise.
When one of my grandsons was in his teens, he failed to fulfill a promise. I was going to say we had a discussion on the subject, but that would indicate there was an exchange of ideas. I talked, he listened (I hoped), looking everywhere but in my eyes as teens are wont to do. I told him there was a time when a man's word was his honor, that a handshake sealed a contract, and that men fought and died for honor...it was that important. When a man said he'd do a thing, it was as good as done; you could "take it to the bank." I asked him to "man up," to live by higher ideals. Looking at the headlines these days, it seems that honor is no longer in vogue. I am so glad that I live in this small, backwater village, surrounded by friends whose word is gold. Their friendship is worth more than gold to me.
The moon is full again and not a cloud in the night sky. Since it is the season, as Bess, Frank and Pearl, and I ventured out last night, I started singing "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear." Yes, these hills were alive with the sound of music. (I can't help it...had to throw that in.) It wasn't midnight, but it was as light as day. The trees that had been in leaf, throwing huge pools of shadow, are now bare. On the ground, it was as if we were stepping from branch to branch on the shadows. Cold? Even Bess's breath came in little twin puffs as we came back up the hill; we'd ventured farther down the drive so I could catch a glimpse of the twinkling tree in the house. It was a fitting finish to a good day.