Dug out one fifth of the garden yesterday, after an entertaining visit chez Tom and Peggy (Peggy was working) to borrow gardening tools and drop off the busted mandolin. Anybody who has seen Tom’s garage knows how this is possible. Paul accompanied me, and there was much mirth and mocking; personally I found the image of the concrete bags which had turned solid enough to form gun emplacement material very happy making. Tom offered four substantial pieces of wood to frame the garden plot with (I am not turning down ten foot lengths of six by six treated aged cedar for this purpose). I didn’t need a mattock, but it was so axe murder-y I had to borrow it. Also, I now have a picture of myself cuddling a meter long spanner, this also being the kind of thing one finds lying about in Tom’s vicinity. I was also thinking of asking him for sand as I was thinking of doing the potatoes grown in tires thing, but really I only have so much energy, and Jeff has already registered misgivings about my ability to keep up with a garden, which is only reasonable. I volunteered for various of Tom’s plans (mostly holding the ends of things, this being a requirement for most of Tom’s plans). Tom and I also agreed to split a cartload of topsoil; Paul is going to investigate manure for his little garden plot.
I stopped digging after I twisted my knee. It appears to be okay this morning, so back to the grind after church. The dirt I’m pulling up is full of earthworms (also those nasty lawn chafer larvae, which I carefully threw onto the concrete so Margot could mishandle them). Margot croaked in excitement when she saw the measuring tape. So shiny ! So crinkly ! So making a wonderful noise as it disappeared into its hole ! She pounced on it but I was able to wrestle it away from her.
Great church meeting yesterday. Various matters arose and I slept on them; I will be taking a decision later today. It’s not particularly earth shattering.
It turns out the migraines were hormones. As my career as a breeder staggers to a close, I suppose I’ll get this crap happening occasionally. Grr, the mama bear said. Grr.
When I was a kid I thought my dad was the coolest man who ever lived; he let us watch Laugh-In, he bought gouramis and lizards and four eyed fish (anableps anableps) and painted a stick man on the side of the house and he had a beard and he put up a geodesic dome in the backyard and he had trophies for shooting and he’d been in the Air Force and he could fix anything and he had a succession of unusual cars (Simca, anyone? original Mini Minor?). One of the many cool things about him was his taste in music. (This is no longer the case.. he listens to Muzak now, but we all get old and tired, so I won’t repine). I used to love it when he played the soundtrack from the early sixties show “Checkmate” – he had the soundtrack album – and it wasn’t until last night that I realized that the Johnny Williams who wrote that score (which is MADE OF OSSUM) is the same John Williams who wrote the Star Wars theme, and many many many others. Prescient dude, mi papa.
Steak and eggs and coffee for breakfast.
Biscotti are on for the first bake…. I promised some to Tom this morning, and given his many kindnesses I’d better get on the stick. Can you tell I’m feeling better?