That is what my wife calls this blog. The stuff I do on Sunday afternoons. Your Sunday stuff she says. She knows it is not meditation, but she also knows for me it is therapeutic. Following Church services, lunch, and sometimes a nap I disappear into the Bunker for an hour or two. There I empty out what is pressing on my mind. Sometimes it comes out fast and furious and other times it is like pulling teeth to hit 600 words. Much more than that I am told and the typical Internet reader is long gone. From my own Internet reading experience, I expect it is much less. Some, if they clicked on the link, did not even make it this far. For as great as the Internet is, it has turned many to headline readers and shortened already challenged attention spans.
My Sunday stuff has become my Monday evening stuff for the past couple of weeks. With construction projects going on at Pendry manor and a winter that will not quit, I have fallen behind on my end of the work. So, Lord forgive me, a couple of my Sunday afternoons have not involved listening to Beethoven (shocked?) within the safe confines of the Bunker and attempting to string together coherent thoughts.
Instead of typing to Moonlight Sonata, I have cleared away snow and replaced the shrubs that I had the concrete contractor rip out. I have moved a couple large piles of mud, mostly clay mud, left for me by said contractor. I had to refill the planters with dirt, actually with the piles of mud the contractor left. I had to move the mud before I could plant the shrubs. The planters? They had to be torn out because some engineering genius from the past used the edge of the sidewalk for his footer. I had to replace the resulting broken sidewalk that was attached to the broken steps I replaced along with the porch. After the expensive brick mason put new planters back in, they really look nice, I had to fill them. So I used the piles of left over dirt and mud. Mud in the planters is fine because I will be planting rocks in them. They don’t need water or fertilizer and the neighborhood cats prefer something softer.
Out back, I removed all of the stone. In its place is a brand spanking new concrete patio. Yes, same contractor same piles of mud. In case you are interested in such things, concrete being pumped uphill and around the house is a neat operation. I had to replace a good portion of the back yard drainage system. I live on a hillside here in Wild and Wonderful. Mother Nature and gravity does not care where you placed the house. When it rains, the water is running downhill. Just in front of my retaining wall is a French drain system (a ditch with a pipe in it surrounded by rocks) that captures the running water and channels it away from the house. It was partially destroyed. Yes by the concrete contractor. For the length of the patio, I had him leave a foot of space between the patio and the retaining wall for a new drain. That is a lot of rock to move up a hill one wheel barrel at a time. They get lighter as the day goes on.
That is how I spent my last two weekends and the third is promised. I have helped my Nation’s economy. I have employed a concrete finisher and his crew, the concrete pouring company truck and pump crew and a brick mason. I have also employed a contractor that is installing the gold-plated porch rail. Well it has to be gold-plated by the cost of it. I have been a frequent flier at the local box store and you know the wife demanded new patio furniture too. But look on the bright side. I am, along with you, paying for someone’s healthcare and food stamps so they, as the progressives put it, are not locked into a job. They are free now to pursue their dreams of writing poetry or painting the next masterpiece while smoking legal dope.
I feel great that I am helping so many. Oops more than 600 words. Have to quit now.
© 2014 J.D. Pendry