Riding the highway, there is a whole host of motorcycle hierarchy. There are the Harley riders that tolerate my Honda (occasionally they throw a few friendly barbs my way). There are the riders who wear helmets, and riders that don’t.  Then there are the hardcore bikers.

Wearing black leather vests with white club patches the long line of motorcycles riders passed our bikes. Not one member looked our way as we acknowledged their group with the two finger down salute.   Perhaps if we had used the old school raised fist they would have turned our way, but I rather doubt it.  I am sure in their book we were posers.

Kietie’s Olde Thyme Soap


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Down in my basement, lined neatly on a shelf are handwritten notebooks chronicling my life. After years of writing, the experience became more of a burden then an important part of my day so I quit writing. Five years later I took up writing again. This time it was in the form of a blog which gave me a place to hang out after I lost my job. From there my blog content morphed into writing about my general contractor experience building our house. As my life experiences grew so did my blog.

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