Sometimes It Just Can’t be Helped

Jon raced again last night.

Someone spun out in front of him and he couldn’t miss them. There goes a rocker arm and who-knows-what-else. The motor didn’t blow up, tho’!! (No, I don’t know if he raced long enough to even be able to tell if it was going to hold together or not.)

There’s always Saturday night…

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Middle-aged. Anti-social. Mom. Grandma. Town-raised farmer's wife. Iowan. Want more? Come read the blogs.

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