Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Tuesday, June 01, 2004

Yard Work!

Okay--tasks at hand: rake shrubbery trimmings from Thursday out into yard; edge yard so that the perimeter of the grass is laser straight the way Nature intended; trim the other bits of overgrowth with the trimmer; cut the grass.

Reba raked for me, so that was one thing I didn't have to do, thankfully, so I got the old yellow McLane out for the edging work. Filled it up, cranked it, and proceeded to do the sidewalk in the back when I noticed that even with the blade adjusted all the way down, I wasn't really cutting anything. Turned it off, and noticed that the blade was only about 4 inches in diameter. I dimly recalled at the end of last year thinking that I needed to get a new blade. But no matter whether I remembered or not, a new blade was needed. I rolled it around to the garage door and after several tugs and pulls broke the nut loose and got the blade off. And dug out a double-handful of dirt and grass clippings that had compacted themselves into the guard around the blade.

Noticed the zerk fittings on the axle housing, and couldn't recall the last time I had lubed it, so I got the grease gun and gunned it full of 90 weight. Apparently, it has been a long, LONG time. I am a bad person. That done, it was time to go get a blade.

I don't know why I do this to myself, but I stopped at the Marvin's at the foot of the hill. It's so very handy, but usually so very poorly stocked. But, like Charlie Brown running to kick the football, I figure maybe just once I'll manage to connect on something I need. Walk in, and it looks nearly deserted, go over to the mower blades annnnnddddd....

AAAARRRGGGGHHHH! Not a single one in the size I need (9 x 2, round hole).


Off to The Home Despot. Walk in and find several million blades, including the one I needed, then back home, bolt it on, and get busy. Found out that using a full-sized blade is much easier than one that is worn out. Finished in no time at all. Swept the clippings up onto the grass, then got out my favorite toy.

Why is it my favorite? Well, it's loud, and dangerous.

Cut down all the weeds around the foundation, all the weeds in the flower beds (along with some collateral damage to the irises), cut down the honeysuckle growing up the pine tree, cut big gaping swaths out of the wisteria that has grown over the arbor.

DISCLAIMER: I've said it before, but it probably bears repeating that holding a two-stroke weed trimmer with three-bladed head up above the level of your shoulders is probably a bit foolhardy. But gee whiz, it's not like I was using a flamethrower or grenades or anything. Yet.

Anyway, got all that noisy and dangerous work finished, and then set in to cut the grass. Although I had hoped to get all of it cut, my yard still has the early-Billy Ray Cyrus, business in the front, party in the back, lawn mullet going for it. But it was getting late, and I was getting tired, so just the front this time.

OH WAIT! I forgot something! Sometime this weekend (Saturday? Yesterday? Who knows?) I helped Catherine fix herself a plastic suncatcher in the shape of a butterfly. She was very helpful for the first thirty minutes or so, and we had a very deep discussion about caterpillars and glitter and school and shoes. After that thirty minutes, though, her interest waned and she went off to play with something else, "You finish that for me, Daddy, okay?" As if I had a choice. She would come back and check on me every once in a while, "You are doing SUCH a good job, Daddy!" Yes, such is the result of my highly specialized education--I can paint glitter paint inside the lines. She was very impressed when it was completely done, and only managed to touch the wet glitter paint twice in her eagerness to mess with it.

Sunday was church all morning--and we had forgotten that we were supposed to have a dinner afterwards, so Reba ran to the store during the first part of Sunday school to get our part of the feast. Worship, eat, then our evening worship again right afterwards--the young guys conducted the service, and did a pretty good job. I know men who wouldn't dare get up in front of a crowd, so they are to be commended. And I have to tell you, I wish our late service was like this every week, although that is mostly just pure selfishness. But it sure was nice to go home and take a nap without having to worry about wrinkling your clothes or getting back out.

Reba took the opportunity to go clothes shopping, with Rebecca and Jonathan tagging along--so the downside of having that extra time was having extra time to spend money. But still--a NAP! Such luxury!

Now, it's time for lunch, though, so you'll have to wait a while before your final portion of mundane stuff.

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