While un-inebriated my podiatrist treats smothered in hose soak as I trudge through sodden horse fodder; that into which my demense has turned. With lawn mower honed and topped up I have been trudging and slogging around and across the expanses of the lawn all summer. A quick start in April, no rest in August, and now weather for growth in October. How is it in one year I can blow snow for 7 months, have a 6 week hiatus from yard work in the spring, mow the lawn for seven months, and still have two more months of question before the snow flies again?
Am I fully satiated with the green activities? Yup! I could give less than one cut grass blade of a rats ass if I ever push those spinning metal knives again this year. In the year of 2 K plus a fortnight of years I expect a closer trim on the turf. Turf trimming taxing the top of my cranium till I teeter on the verge of the berm. In some time I may even ponder to deposit some chlorophyll enhancing material on said plot of grass. Not until it slows down.
The wall was erected and stabilized with geo-mesh and grade A backfill. It matches the house and has leveled my parking. No more of the good burgers of Cambridge sending around the mockstabulary with their little cameras and thermal paper printer pooping out citations. Score to date, The Big Bad City at 6 ½, resident here9 ½. Nuff said.
Get out and make your wishes known. The franchise is not extended to everybody on the orb so if ya’ can, then do it a cuz’n you should. Definitely there are options. Those that suckle off the public teat need to be curbed not coddled. Though those eggs are nice at times. Ask Darrin, he can attest to the nature of the coddled; he will read poached.
In our small corner of the circle, we run at tangent to the obtuse. Hopefully the bearded meister of’a dis stadt will be sent keister sliding into obscurity. Running rough shod and deef to the vox poupuli, he needs to control the four walls of his residence and let the rest of us plebes get moving. The old is out the new is in, and. We need no legacy, our deeds speak. We have no LRT, and 11 roundabouts are still on the table. Has there been any audible voice? Minimal.
Stir this pot and put your foot down in the Kah Kah. If you are afraid to do this, then wash your tender feet and stay out of the barn. There is a stallion in the wings waiting for release. Move aside and let the big boys play. No ego should be so big as to hinder growth and acceptance of the new and life on the edge.
Persevere Portia, I like it smooth and dark. Someone said I had to mention coffee……
Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai.
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