The new neighbors are a loud and rowdy bunch, and sometimes, I can tell something ain’t right next door just from the sounds that carry from their porch to mine. After awhile, their screams start to register as just another bird call, chirping at one another.
The boys are turning four. It is party central next door.
Mary baked a cake.
Celia baked 2 cakes.
Amara baked a cake.
I bought Jack and gin.
Actually, it was a lot more complicated than that. The theme colors were yellow and pink, but I didn’t get the memo, and was sent home to change into a yellow shirt.
Who knew lemonade could be so hard?
After weeks of waiting, the stone pieces I needed for the basement shower were ready.
These are the last pieces I need before I can grout the shower, so I was excited, and I put the first of them in Just So.
And then, before I could install the last piece …
After weeks of waiting, Robert and his crew showed up to build a walkway between the garage and the back door. This is something I’ve wanted to do for years, because right now, it’s nothing but a bunch of weedy gravel. I love the patio he put in downstairs, and it’s mostly because he ignored the scale drawing I’d made for him, and he did a good job.
This time, I gave him another scale drawing, and he ignored it, and I’m having a hard time liking it.
Anything’s better than the way it used to look, I keep telling myself.
The bird was not amused.
I keep mouthing off about how I can build a spiral in [so many] days, and I still think it’s true. But going by the calendar, this first batch is taking me forever.
For what it’s worth, it seems to take me a day and a half on the mill, plus a day of handwork to turn a glued stack into a clean spiral carcass ready for drawers.
Those are good numbers, but try finding a week of free days nowadays.
Works like a charm.
We went to a wedding.
Mary hosted the bridal party of 12 on the morning of the Big Day, and they all got dressed and gussied up, while I made myself scarce in the cellar. I had no idea these affairs could be so complicated.
It was a beautiful day.
We sat at the old folks table.
They drugged the dog, and it bothered nobody.
We have tomatoes coming out of our ears.
I decided to get rid of the Stowe house.
I’m new at this and, to test the waters, I listed it FSBO on Zillow.
- Three scams.
- Two actual inquiries
- Zero offers.
- It was worth a try. Obviously, the building is the problem. Nobody wants to buy into liability. Can’t blame them.
- So I decided to tear it down.
- I hired a demolitions expert, tore out $671 worth of copper, and next week, it’ll be gone.
In the past, my tomatillo plants have been loaded with fruit, and I figured one plant ought to be enough to fill the freezer. So I planted one plant, and it grew tall and strong, but there’s no fruit. Too late, I googled it, and it turns out you need two plants to pollinate.
Fruitless
No blog post would be complete without mentioning the Kawasaki.
Sigh.
Everything that’s ever been wrong with the Kawasaki has been because of the fuel system.
I have fucked up the carburetors at least twice, but I’ve fixed them more times than I’ve fucked them up. So something is fucking up the carbs, and I need to find and fix it.
Well Duh.
The fuel tank, of course, is the only thing that’s upstream of the carburetors, but what can go wrong with a fuel tank? Mine turned out to be full of crud. The liner is detached, and it’s feeding dirt into the carbs.
That’ll do it.
Plus, it recently started to leak. The paint job pointed me to the problem.
“Well Duh,” said Mary. “Quit fussing with it and buy a new tank.”
“No no no no no,” I said! “You don’t understand!” It’s the OEM tank that came with the bike, for god’s sake! Four point two gallons and no dents! All I gotta do is ….
But not today. The Kawasaki took an un-dignified perp walk back to the shed.