Packed by dry weight, my eye
Could it be that my GPS company is trying to send me a message? Subtly, letting me know that all of my hardware gadgets are seriously outdated, and that I should invest in their bottom line. You see, we have (at least) three Garmin gadgets around here, and I decided to investigate if there was a way to upgrade the maps. Roads do evolve. Turns out that the Garmin utilities have nothing but scorn for my toys.
I’ve been turning in circles, trying to update or install newer packages; nothing. Nada. I might have to accept that the only way to find the road to Rome is through my credit card. I’m not quitting, but maybe I should invoke the “patron saint of lost and hopeless causes” before I get lost in a literal sense.
We had an afternoon visit from some folks I know from trivia. They’re older; not quite a generation worth, but their work experience is so different from my own that I’m forced to ask questions. All the time. The Socratic method. Either I find a time machine and reverse the clock, or I do a lot of historical reading before our next encounter.
What is it with the mulch bags at the hardware store. How much water is packed into each pallet worth of black and/or red handfuls of wood chips. I feared having to bail out the car before getting home. Please, when you sell me materials packed by dry weight, dry them first. I can hose it all down later, on my own dime.
Finally found a piece of brisket in the local market. At $76, all I could do was look.
