A Spear and a Loincloth. I AM MAN!

Sorry I haven't updated for awhile. I've been busy. My back hurts, my arms hurt, and I have a knot in my left shoulder blade. Both hands and a leg have lost blood. I have blisters and slivers and the start of a sunburn. It was a good vacation!

I spent a lot of time working on the patio and gardens. The shortened version of what I accomplished would be to simply say "I moved a pile of dirt."


The long version is:
- The garden area in front of my house has been weeded and is ready for more plants.
- I completed the building of the 16x14ft box garden behind the swingy thing on the patio.
- The trees lining the patio have been cut back and thinned out a bit.
- With the help of my kids and my new pickaxes (Yes, 2 of them. The kids wanted to swing one and the one I got for me was too heavy for them.) we attacked a pile of dirt someone had left on the empty lot before I acquired it. It had a lot of small trees growing out of it. The trees made a formidable network of roots that made moving the dirt quite difficult. We conquered it and now more of the rock wall on one side of the patio is exposed again.
- The dirt from the pile-o-dirt has been used to fill in the box garden. This done mostly by bribing boy 1 with money to run the wheelbarrow while I attacked the root fortress.
- Many perennials have been planted. Some were bought, some were transplanted from mom's or a friend's or from my own place.
- Mulch has been applied and this particular project could be considered complete. (There's always something else that could and will be added later.)


Gardening is good therapy unless your insanity stems from not being able to control your gardening passion. The perennials came from Redwood Falls, Marshall, Willmar, Granite Falls, Montevideo, and Wood Lake. I have plants from 4 different nurseries as well as from Hy-Vee, 4 Walmarts, Shopko, Home Depot, Menards, 2 or 3 Runnings, and those that I got free from other gardens.

And I want more!
And it's the time of the year where they start running the half price sales! And now I've found an arbor arch that I think is wide enough to drive a lawnmower through that would be perfect for the street side of the path coming through the grove near (from as of yet unstarted - except for some of the plants already being in my possession) garden "Hosta La Vista, Baby!
Whatever shall I do?!

The pickaxes are both double sided, like an anchor, only 1 side is a spike and the other is shaped more like a heavy duty hoe. After I had picked up the second pickax from the local True Value, I gave it to Boy 2 first. I stood back and watched him for a bit. Then, for my own amusement, I grabbed the end closest to me on one of his upswings and yelled "OW!" He thought he'd actually hit me and the look on his face when he swung around was absolutely priceless, as was the expression change as he realized I was messing with him. He scolded me and said I wasn't funny, but he was laughing at the same time. It was even more funny as in my effort to NOT get hit, I'd missed the grab on the first two attempts and he didn't notice my shadow. It's one of those things a person wishes they would have taped.


So as I was thinning out the trees and cutting back branches that were filling in spots where I didn't want them to be, I ran some through the chipper/shredder to use as mulch around the Hostas in The Garden of Sexual Innuendo.


Many of the branches were from those trees that get those little berries on them that birds like and people can't eat. Those trees have evil little spikes on them, thus accounting for my slivers. In retaliation and so that I wouldn't get more slivers, these trees were burned - and so were all the roots from the root fortress. To keep the fire going we added wood from the wood pile I have for fire pit use. And Holy. Toly. Doe - the fire pit sure was used!


And then, when I decided to call it a day and the fire had burned itself out, I used the fire pit to make steaks. I put a patio block in each corner and put the grate on them so that it wouldn't rest in the embers and ash. Armed with only my "grill sized metal spatula", a plate, a knife, a fork, and my super sized 50 cent can of Morton Iodized Salt, I made my steaks.


It was the first time I'd ever attempted to do this. I have never even grilled.


And maybe my steaks didn't have the "hickory smoked" flavor that advertisers like to promote. And maybe they didn't have the charcoal flavor that charcoal enthusiasts prefer.
What I would describe them as possibly having would be, "A fine blend of white birch, cedar, and boxelder, along with the likely cottonwood, apple, and mulberry...and a whole lot of evil-spikey-berry-tree-branches and many roots...along with just a dash of ash bore and a splash of dutch elm disease and just the slightest pinch of lingering poisonous black smoke from burning plastic mulch bags".


At any rate, my steaks were The Bomb Diggiddy. I mean...They. Were. Good!!!

And as I sat before my conquered steer and listened to the fat sizzle and watched the blood and grease drip through the grate and hiss and sputter and create little flames in the embers below, I fully expected the ghosts of a thousand Norsemen and Viking Berserkers to arise from the ground and beat their chests and shields and pound their spears on the earth and blow their animal horn bugles while the God of Beef and the God of Fire came riding up on their Harleys to present me with The Staff of Manhood, for I most certainly had just achieved some major milestone in a guy's life.

But as I waited, all I heard was the sound of birds happily going about their business. I also heard some crickets. And apparently I'd pissed off a squirrel - judging by the barrage of angry sounding squirrel chatter coming from the little beasty.

And as a tribute to the fallen steer I made sure I didn't waste any of the beef. I ate well and threw the bones to the side of the patio that will be next years vacation project. When the wild animals and birds have picked the bones clean and the sun has bleached them and dried them up, perhaps they too will run through the chipper/shredder to be used as mulch for my plants. For I am man. Primitive, but with motorized yard equipment!

Color

Wow! It's a hot one today! I guess I'll stay inside and finish off the post I started on June 9th or so, and then start a new one for today.

So anyway, I think I saw fireflies last night by the corner where the Cottonwood detour starts. I wasn't positive on this, and I was running late so I had to keep going. I shut the lights off for part of the detour to see if I could verify that I'd seen the fireflies, but it ended up being too light to see if the fireflies were in the ditches and too dark to comfortably drive with the lights off. But anyway, I still like seeing them every summer.

And this ties in with what I wanted to blog about today.

Someone out there has developed a seedless watermelon. Research has been done so that daylilies come in probably hundreds of colors and color combinations. Why hasn't someone done the same for the dandelion?

A seedless dandelion with a variety of colors! No more lawn maintenance! Woo hoo!
"Hey neighbor, where did you get that sweet purple dandelion? I've gotta get some of those for my own lawn!"

I'm talking about a World Happiness kind of thing, here!

And how about my little firefly friends? They are neat as they are, and maybe the sexes wouldn't be attracted to each other if their little @$$e$ were red and green and pink and blue instead of that whitish-yellow that they come in.

And they are, after all, living creatures doing their own thing.

So rather than develop new strains of bugs ('cause we still have plenty), how about making bug zappers that have color changing bulbs?

I'm tellin' ya, put a couple of those next to each other and the fireworks display would provide HOURS of entertainment! Just think of the reductions in pesticides!

Once again, your host. Single handedly saving the planet. :)

The first car...

One of my friends has a son who just turned 16.
His dad is looking for a car for him.
He called his dad to have him look at a car he found on eBay that he liked.
His dad has bought several vehicles off of eBay and has had good luck, so he checked the car out.
It was a Mustang, and it was nice. The bidding ended in seven minutes and the car was in Florida.
He looked it over and bid the car up to $8,000 before he let someone else get it.
He told the rest of us, "Well, at least I can tell him I tried."

I didn't really think much about it except that I probably wouldn't have the first car my kids get be a sports car. Something along the lines of a 1997 Buick LeSabre with lots of miles and a bit of an exhaust rattle, I could see...but not something that screams "LOOK AT ME! I JUST GOT MY DRIVING LICENSE AND CAN'T WAIT TO GET A TICKET!"

But then I overheard another friend comment about the $8,000 price tag.
I had to chuckle, as I still haven't owned a car worth that much.

It got me to thinking about my past vehicles. They are as follows...


Most recently is the 1979 Lincoln Continental Town Car. I paid $800 for it. It sucks down the gas so I don't use it too often. I'd like to make it show worthy, but as it's 20 feet long it will also require it's own building upon completion of restoration.


I currently also have the 1997 Buick. It has a bit of an exhaust rattle and high miles. It has finally started to rust under the driver's side doors and could use some work underneath it. I'm afraid it won't last long enough for my kids to take their drivers tests in. I'm in the process of finding a suitable replacement as it's been a fantastic vehicle.


Before that I had a 1989 Buick LeSabre that had over 246,000 miles on it before I let someone else drive it who didn't watch the intersection and was ran into by Debra K. B*rkl*y of Stillwater, MN - who apparently stopped for the stop sign but was able to take off from it so fast that she knocked a good chunk off the front of my vehicle and continued on to flatten a stop sign on the opposite side of the road, popping her own back tire on the stop sign. (Not that I remember the details.)

I really liked that car.


Before that, I had my college car. It was a 1980-82 Buick Skylark. We bought it for $300 when I was a senior in high school and I paid for half. I actually think of this as my first car, and it was a good little car. Box shaped and brown, but it had power windows and cruise control and a CB.
Then one day as I was heading down the road. the dashlights all went out and the brake lights came on. Electrical is expensive, and I was too young to fix it. Bummer.


But then there's the actual first car. We (my twin, my friends, myself...people in general) referred to it as "The Turd." It was a 1980 or 1981 Pontiac J2000 (which looked a lot like a Pontiac 2000, 6000, or Sunbird if you are familiar with any of those.)

It was a car you can't forget.
Let me tell you about the The Turd.
And Val, if I've missed anything, feel free to add it in the comments section!



The Turd was purchased by the father-figure for use in his insurance practice. It was a much smaller vehicle than the Buick that the mom-thing was driving and would have much better gas mileage. At this time, I believe the old man was still coaxing life from the 1961 T-Bird and was finally able to put the rusty beast to pasture. (I mean this literally, as the old man was never one to take care of his vehicles the way the rest of the family does.)


So one overcast day, The Turd shows up in the yard. Even in the gloom, which usually makes cars look like they're in better condition than they really are, I could see that the hood had a faded paint job.


And then the old man applied the business bumper sticker. And I vowed at that point that no car I ever owned would ever have one. If I ever get a used car that has a bumper sticker, it will be removed by the current owner before money changes hands. It's like the wrong tattoo being applied badly on a pretty girl, as far as I'm concerned.


It was still a year or so off before Val and I would have our driver's licenses. By the time we had our turns with The Turd, it had both taillights broken out - one by each older brother. (I think all 4 male family members were pulled over for this. They never did get fixed.)

Also, both front windows were off their tracks so you manually raised and lowered them by placing your hands on the them and sliding them to the desired position, being careful not to go all the way down as the all-the-way-down position required getting two pliers out and sticking them down the door to grab the top of the window to pull it back up far enough to grab by hand again. (This started out as a two person job, but I eventually got really good at it!)

The car had two radios. The AM radio in the dash and the aftermarket FM installed below the dash. Neither worked. The horn didn't work either. And the AC only worked in the winter while the heater only worked in the summer.

There were holes in the floor board on the drivers side. You had to keep that in mind when approaching water puddles on a rainy day.


The thing had no balls to speak of. You could put the pedal to the floor and 5 to 7 seconds later it would figure out that you really expected it to actually start moving. On our way to school we always tried to get it up to 55 by the time we reached the first bridge after the first stop sign. On very few occasions did this happen, and it has made every car since then feel like pure power.


There was that one time when we just leaving town and the back window fell out...

Then there was the time when we crossing the road with balloons tied to the car and the car died. (Perpendicular to an oncoming funeral procession.) The car dying was nothing unexpected, as all of our friends knew the car and we knew the routine well. Val would switch from Shotgun to driver while whoever was in the back and I would push.


For a while, we ran it with a bad alternator. We charged it overnight to get us to school and then get a jump start from a friend to get it back home. This worked best during the day as it was hard to see with no headlights on at night.


The transmission went out toward the end of the car's time with us. Dad had it fixed enough to make it move in reverse through second, but "drive" was never to be seen again from The Turd. Because of this, we were not supposed to drive it faster than 45 mph.
However, there were days when we were running late, and we'd have mom write up an excuse slip...and then we'd haul @$$ to the best of The Turd's ability...and if we made it to school on time, we'd stash the undated excuse slip inside the non-working horn compartment and save it for another day.


That is, if the car made it to town at all. Some days the first neighbor that happened along would be the one to help us complete our journey to our education destination.

There was one time when mom got after me for a large dent in the trunk. I didn't know what had happened which seemed to upset her even more. By this time, the metal under the drivers side doors had given way to rust and the trim had fallen off. I didn't see how the dent was as big of a deal as she seemed to think, but I popped the trunk and pushed it back out. (Apparently someone had leaned on it. It had no inner support to brace the outer metal.)

I don't think we ever drove it with the key in it. You had to push a switch for the key to turn completely to the "off" position. We often wondered if other people used it during the day as the gas gauge sometimes seemed lower after school than it did when we parked it.
Well, that was on those times when the wire by the gas tank was actually connected so that the gas gauge could read the fuel level. (I used this knowledge back in high school to help a friend get the gas gauge to work on his Buick Century. He was impressed.)

The back seat wasn't hooked up right and could be flipped forward.
My Bad on that one. I locked the keys in the trunk and dad got them out through the back seat. I'm not sure why we never put it back on. We probably figured it would happen again.


The Turd was also put to pasture before the end of high-school. I don't remember which went first, the fuel pump or the water pump - but they went about a month apart and it was far past time to put any more money into fixing it.

While in college, I only saw 2 Pontiac J2000 vehicles. One was a near perfect version of the one I had been driving that belonged to a girl in my dorm. She lived in S. Dak and one time, on her way home, she ignored the light telling her it was overheating and wrecked the engine.
The other one belonged to someone I didn't know. She'd parked it and went in to the college and the engine caught fire and several fire trucks, 2 ambulances, and police cars were surrounding it when she came back out. Glad we didn't have that one!

I haven't seen one of these cars since then. I even checked eBay a couple of times. I don't know that I'd buy one if I ever came across one in great shape, but they sure could make a tight corner at city speed! :)




Note: All of the vehicles have been removed from the pasture since then and mom has the place in good order, so as not to give you the wrong mental image. I also feel the need to mention that the state of this car caused numerous arguments between my parents. So mom, this if for you. Please read it again. Then ask ask yourself if you really feel I don't remember things as they were. And if you still feel the need to call me at work after I've asked you not to...repeatedly...
to go off about whatever stupid thing dad has done that you're upset about... don't. I'm not taking sides. If you have a legitimate concern about something that involves my kids, you'd best come right out and say it without it being a lead-up or a tie-in to something other than about the kids. You and dad are no longer. Both of you annoy me. I love you both. Let that be enough.

The Rope

Why does it always have to be a tug-o-war?

I've never liked this game. I'm cutting the rope in half.

You are free to do with your half as you see fit.
Be creative with it, or do nothing with it.
Your choice.

But don't use your rope to create a noose, a snare, a tripwire, or anything else that interferes with what I choose to do with my rope.

And right now, I'd like to jump rope.

Please give me some room. You're standing on my rope.

Cereal Box Surprises

What happened to the free giveaways for the little people?

Everything seems to be a code that you need to enter online, cut out and sent away in a self addressed stamped envelope with a check for shipping and handling, or "texted" to whatever phone number.

I miss the little thingamajigs that used to come inside the cereal boxes.
I miss opening the box and pulling the full bag out to see if the Hot Wheels car or Wacky Sticker sheet was in the box or somewhere inside the cereal bag.

My kids are missing out on an important ritual, here!

So today, for nostalgia purposes, I am writing the rest of this post in lemon juice. This way, you can use your Secret Cap'n Crunch Decoders one more time.

If you lost that somewhere back in the 80's, sorry about that.
I guess you'll have to try holding the monitor up to a candle or a hot lightbulb in order to see the secret message. :)

Politically Incorrect

One of the bad things about working overnight is that there's a much smaller group of people working with you than if you work days.

Plus, studies show that you're more inclined to develop health issues, and statistics show that something like half the people you meet on the road after 10pm are under the influence of alcohol, thereby increasing your chances of dying on the way to and from work. But as of today (here in MN) the police can pull you over and ticket you for no other reason than for not having your seatbelt on, so I'll be working on getting in the habit of wearing that. Plus, my cruise control is working again. Hopefully my airbag deployment device also does.



Time to fire up the trolling motor. I've drifted.

Makin' little waves here as we head back to the subject.



One of the benefits to working overnight is that you are not always subject to the same rules and regulations that your daytime counterparts are. Check this out...

So, the boss? He lost half of his index finger at an earlier job many years ago. There's no HighFiving that guy. It's more of a GimmeFourAndaHalf!

"So for clarification purposes, do you need 5 gallons of vanilla...or 4 gallons and 1 half gallon?"

And more stuff like that.

It makes me wonder - if the opposable thumbs were both missing, would he still be human? Or does he then fall in with the monkey group?

Or how 'bout the middle finger? If part is missing, is the missing part the "F" or the "U"?
Either way, you wouldn't be able to not laught at someone who used that particular hand gesture with only part of the middle finger there.

As for the other members of the crew...

We have a Johnson on the crew. We call him "Tiny".

We have the high school dropout.

We have the crotchety old fart that swears a steady stream of curses while he works, throws his hands in the air a lot, and is about the jumpiest and easiest person to startle that I've ever seen. I've had a lot of fun with him. :)

Then we have the guy who's missing one of his eyes due to an accident that occured in his youth. The lesson there is "Don't play with knives - unless you wear glasses."

Of course, there are a million things you can say to a person who's missing an eye if they have a sense of humor about it. "Arrrggghhh!!!", "Bet you didn't SEE that coming!", "LOOK OUT!" etc.

I think my favorite is the smiley face drawing Missing Finger Guy gave Missing Eye Guy. It looked like this. -> .) There is definitely a sick mind at work there. Made me happy.

Last week, somehow Missing Eye Guy's fake eye fell out and bounced across the floor. I didn't see it happen and he had it back in before I heard about it, but I asked him if we could use if for a hackey sack on break. Then I asked if he could pop it out and put in one of those plastic containers you get out of a quarter machine, because that would look cool if you put odd stuff in it. He chuckled, and said it's not shaped right, and explained the process of how a fake eye is made - which was actually quite interesting!

We have the older guy who does everything other than what's actually important to get done at the moment. We had a bit of a go around when I first started but get along smashingly now. (I pointed out that it doesn't mean I'm not doing more than he is just because I'm not wasting time will all sorts of useless movements.) So now we get along great and talk of gardens. Plus, he's a war vet. You have to respect him no matter what for that.

We have one person of non-Caucasian origins. He once asked what the civil war was fought over. We told him "Oil". He believed us. I later asked him if anyone gave him a different answer to his question and he said it's in the past and he didn't care. I didn't want him to get beat up my his family and friends so I told him that as a black person he should probably know the answer. He asked, "Why do you have say black? Why can't you say Native American?"

Ummm...cause your not a Native American?

Doesn't say much for whatever school in New York he went to. The cracks were big. He fell through.

We discuss important things at work. Things like, "Does the lightning come down from the sky or up from the ground?", or medical stuff like bleeding gums or if you're really dead when you have no vitals but are still able to be brought back, or "If you can't wear white after Labor Day, when can you start wearing it again?"

Every time we actually have a real conversation, New York's argument is so completely backwards that even the high school dropout shakes his head in awe at the stupidity.

We've decided that the police should go do his mom's door - and instead of telling her that her son is dead, tell her that she failed. Horribly.

As for me, I get a lot of crap for not following sports, and for my inability to catch anything that's not shaped like a box, and for working there at all since I have a college degree.

As for that last part, I have to agree with them. And maybe I'll have to speed up the process of getting a daytime job where I can't tell the boss whatever I'm thinking at the moment and still be employed the next day.

The reason is this. Boy 1 likes a girl. I haven't met this girl yet, so I asked Boy 2 about her. He said, "She's hot." I asked if she was another (insert name, which is interchangeable with "person who's always in some kind of trouble") like the last girl he liked. He said, "Yeah, probably. She sneaks out of her house at midnight."

Which is just what I need. I'm gone and he likes a girl that sneaks out of her house.

I reckon I'll have to talk to the boy.

Dancing in the Rain

Well, not exactly...and not the Hosta variety, either.
But it certainly was cold and wet today!

So.
Every time I buy new tennies, I have these grand plans of taking better care of them the previous pair.

I was thinking about that today while I was standing in mud with my chainsaw spitting little nurgles of tree all over my feet and the rain dripping off the brim of my hat and soaking my freezer suit from Job2. I was able to see my breath today, so was thankful I had brought the freezer suit home.

And yes. I was once again wearing my newest tennies.
(They washed up and dried very nicely in the LG appliances, I might add.)

The reason I brought home the freezer suit is actually a blog topic in itself, but the short version of it is that my kids locked themselves out of the house...and me, too...because the keys to the house were inside of it, and so was the garage door opener. The kicker is that rather than tell me they'd locked us all out, they called me at work and asked if they could stay at a friend's house that night.

Brats.

I'd stopped at home between Job1 and Job2 and discovered the situation. I figured I'd be spending some time in the morning sun and brought the freezer suit home to hide my untanned body from the sunlight. And now I've learned how to enter my locked and sealed house without breaking any windows or "Heeeeeeerrrss Johnny!"ing either of the entrances.

Which leads me to The Post of the Moment, and said post will include the sun rather than the rain mentioned in the title.
I'll get to that part shortly.

Back when I was just a wee young lad, even younger than my kids are today, I attended grade school at East Side Elementary in Marshall, MN. The building is no longer serving the general public as a public school, (asbestos?) but we had some teachers there that were worth remembering.

Ironically, I have no idea which one it was that said this to us, but one of them told us that with all of the people currently living and all of those that had lived before us, we would never have an original thought. Anything we think of has already been thought of by someone else.

Well. Ain't that a bitch?
I still haven't been able to forgive her for telling us that, even though she's probably right.
(Which doesn't particularly matter, since I can't remember which teacher said it.)

OK. So someone else has already beaten me to everything that I will ever think of.
But maybe...just maybe... that someone died before they shared the thought.
Ah...a glimmer of hope! (In kind of a weird, twisted way.)

So now I'd like to take the opportunity to share some thoughts with you so that I can ruin it for the next poor sap who's bummed out 'cause all the thoughts are used up. My apologies if you have already thought these yourself as you might find this boring.

My thoughts...

On magnifying glasses. Convex lens or concave lens? I don't remember. But when you hold one up so that the *sun* (See? I came back to it!) hits it just right, the light is focused into a pinpoint line that creates enough heat to start a leaf or a paper on fire.

What happens if that beam of light is run through yet another magnifying glass? Does the light get even tighter and hotter? If you add more magnifying glasses, does it work the same as the telescope concept, only in reverse?

And what happens if you aim that light so that it bounces off a mirror before hitting the target?
Does it still create enough heat on impact to start the object on fire? How about if it were reflected back and forth between several mirrors? Would it somehow create the illusion of additional light as well as having the heat? If so, could you take one of those Christmas ornaments (round, colored on the outside but mirror finished on the inside, super fragile glass/metallic), open a small hole on both ends, direct the sunlight through prisms and magnifying glasses on one end, and get a stronger beam coming out the other?

Would it be enough to evaporate water? Would it be intense enough to push an object? Because if was, I might have a use.

Next - magnetism. In the radio world, FM stands for Frequency Modulation. (AM stands for Amplitude Modulation, in case you ever wondered but didn't care enough to google it.) AM radio waves bounce between the sky and the earth, and therefore the towers are in swampy areas. However, FM radio waves work on the same principle as magnetism, with each FM radio wave pushing the previous wave along ahead of it. They travel in a straight forward fashion, which is why you see FM radio towers on top of really tall buildings or in other high locations. The waves don't bounce, so when you drive through a tunnel you lose your FM reception until you are back out of it and into an area where the signal reaches you again.

But what would happen if you were to take a whole bunch of powerful magnets (equal in all dimensions. weight, shape, size, etc.) and arrange them in a wagon wheel spoke pattern in such a way that gravity treats each the same but they are still set up in such a way that they try to make the one ahead of it move? (Opposites attract, likes repel. Right?) Of course, they'd have to be individually attached to something with some give, like a piece of aluminum (non magnetic metal) so that they could be made to move toward the next magnet, and it could then take it's turn to move the next one, and so on.

What could be used to continuously cause the push? Perhaps some sunlight that's been magnified several times?

And so on.

Some of the other thoughts I had regarding these topics -
- Does any of it matter?
- Is any of it already being used? If so, for what?
- Should I pretend that one day I will have the time and money to run my own experiments so that I can find some practical use that I can patent and sell and become independently wealthy and therefore have more money to run more experiments on stuff that other people thought before me but died before sharing leaving me the chance to cash in on their misfortune and get even more money so I can become the crazy eccentric that drives around town in a street sweeper?
- Is it going to wreck my hoodie if I wash and dry it with my muddy @$$ shoes?
- If I start a fire and burn the branches right here on the ground in the path I'm creating through my grove, will the police see it? If so, is it cold and wet enough where they'll just keep driving and pretend they didn't instead of issuing me a ticket for burning without a permit?
- What works better to clean and whiten a beaver skull...peroxide or bleach?
- How much of the side of the road does the city control even if you own it? Is there enough left beyond their chunk and where my trees start for me to start another garden? If so, should I frame it in rock, landscaping brick, or treated timbers? And what would I name it?

I wonder if either my old Sony Walkman CD player or Toshiba Radio/Cassette still works.
I might be one of those people who shouldn't be left with his "own" thoughts.

That's the end of it for today. I'm throwing in a little extra at the end here to say "Hi!" to family friend, Jean L (mom said you enjoy reading our blogs. sweet!) and also to Doodles (thanks for stopping by and leaving a comment!) and my twin sister Valerie, who never answers the phone when I call her, even tho I call her during the hours when she's awake instead of those when I am. (Better quit that or next time we're all together I'm pushing you down the stairs when mom's not watching!)

Oooohh. I think I'd call my roadside garden (In an Arnold voice) "'Hosta' La Vista, Baby!"

The Garden of Sexual Innuendo

How's that for a title?

I'm a gardener, as were my ancestors before me.

At least on Mom's side. I suspect Dad's side of the family did more hunting than gathering, as every year he asks me if I'm taking vacation to go hunting with him.

And every year I say, "No, Dad. I'm not taking a week off from both jobs to drive 6 hours to where you hunt so as to sit in a tree by myself for 5 days in a row, with a good chance of the entire week being a snowstorm, and then driving 6 hours home again at the end of the week, just for the chance of shooting a deer. After all, the car has *x many miles* (currently 281,000+) Maybe one day I just won't "see" one of the deer standing on the road. Or maybe I'll just go buy more beef."

Of course, people who really get into hunting don't understand this logic.

I've gone hunting. I just prefer not to hunt. The last time I shot a critter was a couple summers back, when rabbits ate 37 of 40 tomato plants the night I planted them. (It was a rough summer on the rabbits that year, but the carrion eating critters ate well.)

Oh, and in case you're wondering, the 3 plants they didn't eat were Grape Tomatoes.



Yes. I like gardening.



Now I live in town. I don't have the room for the large veggie garden that I'd like to have, which is OK because I'm equally happy with flower gardening. I'm currently working a shade garden at the end of my dead-end street, and a 16x14 ft raised garden at the back of my patio.

I haven't really worked with shade plants much so I've been having a lot of fun looking at what's available. I've already been offered ferns by 3 different parties, but the plants I've suddenly taken a liking to are the Hostas.

It's probably because many Hostas have fun names, like "Hanky Panky", "Dancing in the Rain", "Striptease", etc.

So recently, while the kids and I were having spaghetti (which I will always remember clearly as it's the first time in my life I actually made the right amount of noodles) I had a revelation.

I should name my patio and gardens!

For the patio, I'm thinking "Safari in Africa". (Although nothing about the patio suggests Africa... unless toad and fairy statues are common there. You'll see the reason for this name in bit.)

For the gardens that are supposed to be in the sun, I'm thinking names such as "The Witness Protection Program", "The Amazon Jungle", "The Peace Corps", "A Gypsee Caravan", or other similar names .

For the shade garden, I'm thinking a name like "The Bed With College Girls".

And now, the explanation for the names of these gardens, as I explained to the kids over our perfect spaghetti portions. As I go through this, please create a mental picture of my teenager looking at me with this "You have got to be the strangest person on the face of the planet" blank stare, and his younger brother outright laughing.



So anyway, it went something like this...

"Guys, what do you think about this? I'm thinking of naming the patio "Safari in Africa". I'll be out there a lot again this summer, so I was thinking we should call it that so when someone calls and asks for me, you can tell them 'Dad's on "Safari in Africa"', instead of 'He's on the patio.' I'm also thinking of naming the gardens. That way, rather than say 'Dad's in the garden', you can say 'Dad's in "The Witness Protection Program"', or 'Dad's in "The Amazon Jungle"' or something like that."

The shade garden is going to take up a lot of my time this summer.
For that reason, it needed a special name.

Once I've gotten a few more plants, my kids'll be able to tell the caller, "Dad is in 'The Bed With College Girls'. There's a little "Hanky Panky" and some "Striptease" action. He's working on some "Sweet Thing" and I'm sure that soon there will be some "Dancing in the Rain". He likes to refer to it as 'The Garden of Sexual Innuendo'..."

I'm thinking this would make me sound studly and would be sure to impress the caller.

Alas, I'm sure they'll just bring my cell phone out to me.

Snakes, and snails, and puppy dog tales...

(Yes, I did use that form of "tales" on purpose.)

So today, as I'm just waking up and getting ready for the day, I clumsily stagger toward the shower. As I approach the bathroom door, my eyes suddenly go into focus on something on the shoe shelf in the front entry.

It was about a foot from my face, so it was hard to miss.

"What is this new item of interest that my children have brought home?", I ask myself.

Upon closer inspection, with closer being about 6 inches, I see they have found a skull.

A dirty skull.

Thankfully, it's just dirt - no tissue remains or bugs in the skull cavity.

Last year they brought home a painted turtle shell. They hid that outside in case I'd be upset with them for bringing it home. Apparently they were pleased with my reaction when I did finally come across it, because now they not only bring the remains-of-the-dead home, they put it on a shelf at eye-level so when I wake up and groggily stumble through the house, I come face-to-face with said dead thing.

I can't honestly say that this upsets me. In fact, it's quite the opposite...

I haven't had the chance to fully inspect the skull to my satisfaction, but I'm pleased to announce that I was able to resist the urge to bring it into the shower with me and clean it using the toothbrush I've saved for Extra-Funky-Shower-Stall-Tile-Cleaning. It looks like it could possibly be to a beaver except that it's too large. It has two large front teeth that follow the curve of the skull. There's no lower jaw attached.

You can bet that I'll find time to clean this skull sometime this weekend.
Outside.
I'm wondering how I can incorporate it into one of the gardens.

And hopefully that turtle shell shows up again. It seems to have wandered off.

I keep hoping I find indian artifacts on my property. Or maybe an indian that 'expired' a few centuries ago. So far, I've only found a horse shoe - and there was no long dead cowboy next to it.

I can't say I wonder where my kids got it from!