Planting, below
Part of getting older: when a simple sore toe can wake you in the middle of the night, and prevent any other dream sequences. What wouldn’t have bothered me, before, now disrupts. Or as the saying goes, “getting old is not all that much fun”.
They’re planting, in the two fields below. As near as I can tell, potatoes and grain. A chance to watch the whole seasonal cycle, right through my own kitchen window.
After doing my part (family taxi, for son #3 and natural science), I decided to continue on into Souris. Gas, speaker wire, wall screws and food. Nothing complicated. Home before the dog knew I was gone.
More calls from the Evil Empire. Two, making sure that I’d be there for our midweek rendezvous. When I mentioned to caller #2 that we’d already had that query, he explained that the first was a technical call, abd the second a verification. So many people asking banal questions. My call about the “other” appointment brought the date one full day closer. Hint to the beancounters: drop the easy calls and put some more trucks on the road.
While we wait for a steady stream of new content, the little hard drive full of my winter’s online fishing is a real balm. The only shortcoming is a lack of “review”; I don’t always recognize the titles. Small beans.
I’m going to delay the installation of new outside lights until my ladder feet are pain-free. Hate to get up there and then have to explain to someone else about how the job should be completed.
