Yardwork.

Yesterday, Lee and I went on an expotition (Roo-style) to Sears. I told Lee I’d buy him a circular saw, and he wanted a Craftsman. Okay…

We get there, amble down past the women’s clothes to the tools. Hm. Tools. But further on, I could see…yard pavilions. And grills. And…

Suffice it to say, I now no longer laugh at Lee when he talks about going to Sears and his eyes light up.

I spent a good part of yesterday going over the back yard with a soil rake, trying to pull some of the gravel out of where I’m putting the garden. Recklessly, I moved some flowers out of the way*, including a monster clump of irises and the cutest little grape hyacinths. Not that they had flowers anymore; Ray had been through the backyard already, after all. “It’s death or banishment,” I said. “Out-of-season transportation! You’ll never survive! Muahahahaha!” But I wasn’t about to leave them where I may very well plant the basil. Irises. Bah!

I got on a roll and did the rest of the yard. I found a tiny rhubarb plant and three metal posts that had been broken off at ground level. I’m not sure how I’m going to break up the garden soil…I’m afraid to rent a tiller, now.

While I was doing this, Lee, who is hereby awarded Spouse of the Month award, put the new grill together while sick. Afterwards, he conked out.

Ray and I took off to go shopping…and I realized I had no idea whether there was some specific kind of gas canister I needed. By that time, I was done dealing with other people, so I just went home and cooked the brats on the stovetop. New gril + too tired = no grilling. Sigh. But today we’re going to do chicken. I think I’m going to brine it first.

Yesterday, I was planning to go to Home Depot and use some gift-card goodage to buy a wheelbarrow. We could put all that extra gravel into the defunct swimming pool, or I could cart it into the front yard and put it under the trees where the needles kill all the grass anyway: my plan is to change the front yard into a moutain, with trees, rocks, flowers, and maybe a path and a pond. We live in Colorado, dammit, and if you can’t xeriscape your yard to look like a mountain here, where can you do it?

Anyway, that was the plan yesterday. Today, I’m planning to take some ibuprofen and nurse my blister instead.

*Note to self: have found activity for which Crocs are truly inappropriate, i.e., jumping on shovels.

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1 Comment

  1. ***Dave

    Irises. Bah!

    Blasphemer!

    Have found activity for which Crocs are truly inappropriate, i.e., jumping on shovels.

    Yeah. Most sandals are not very good for that, either, and bare feet are Right Out (he says, knowingly).

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