Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Five, Six
Five, six . . . pick up sticks
Seven, eight . . . mowing's great
Nine, ten . . . paint the shed
Okay, so that's an imperfect rhyme. They're all the rage in lyrics, so I'm practicing.
As for the ditty, that's what I did this evening. Picked up sticks - we've got a gazillion oaks that like to drop branches - mowed the lawn (with the help of Hubby and Eldest Son) - and painted the shed (with Hubby's assistance, too). Shh! Don't tell anyone. We ran out of paint after painting the three public sides. The side where I chopped out the bushes and grapevines is the one that didn't get painted. Go figure.
Seven, eight . . . mowing's great
Nine, ten . . . paint the shed
Okay, so that's an imperfect rhyme. They're all the rage in lyrics, so I'm practicing.
As for the ditty, that's what I did this evening. Picked up sticks - we've got a gazillion oaks that like to drop branches - mowed the lawn (with the help of Hubby and Eldest Son) - and painted the shed (with Hubby's assistance, too). Shh! Don't tell anyone. We ran out of paint after painting the three public sides. The side where I chopped out the bushes and grapevines is the one that didn't get painted. Go figure.
Labels: husband, lyrics, mowing, oak trees, painting, rhyme, shed, son
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Bifurcated Weasel
Bifurcated weasel. Yes sir, this was what was going through my head as I bush-whacked my way through the brush and grape vines beside our shed. Normally I'm not a bush-whacking sort of gal, but there was a purpose behind this willful destruction of nature. I have to paint the shed. We (Hubby and I) built it years ago, but ran out of steam before the painting part.
There's nothing like hard physical labor to get you high on endorphins. It's good at emptying the mind of useless chatter, too, except for that bifurcated weasel thing. Don't know where that came from, but there it was, cycling through my head as I removed what felt like a small forest.
The exhibit photos above, in case you can't tell, are the Shed Before, Shed After, and Giant Pile of Removed Brush. No painting done, though. The brush was enough for one day.
Labels: bifurcated weasel, brush, labor, nature, shed
