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.