Entry tags:
Up and Down
Progress on transcribing contacts from old NotSoSmartPhone to new SmartPhone... well, if I've not called you recently, this could be why. Or then again I may not even have your phone number. Still and all, it occurs to me after an exchange of some other comments to explain a bit more. New SmartPhone is doing peachy on synchronisation. Old NotSoSmartPhone, on the other hand, forgot (terminally) some-when about 7 or 8 months into the contract how to sync, for the 6th time. So I stopped teaching it. Hence, why We are now hand-transcribing.
Good bit of tilling done in the Gardens this weekend, until the equipment said ENUF NO WRKZ. This attitude proved insufficient reason when the Owned tiller said this; we rented one from the local Ace Hardware. That one did quite well, and provided me with some serious meditation in motion time. Until, alas, it too stopped progressing forward. That turns out to be due to a slipped drive pulley due to a loose nut.
Loose nut... Right. Yes, that could describe me as well. Shut Up, Fred.
Sunday, running the rented tiller, my mind ran on about helping Dad in his garden. Those thoughts included helping Dad, Dad most likely very much liking how much garden Herself is attempting to run, my own role as the Destroyer, something Dad learned and passed along to Herself, and the whole meditation in motion aspect of walking behind the tiller. It included sod-busting, horsepower measured for internal combustion, horse power as the 'traditional' method, and where we are with both of those. I contemplated getting Harrison Ford 8NTractor up and running, and the big, deep tiller that will provide.
I remembered Harley, Harley Quinn, the harlequin Great Dane that Herself's Brother bought as a gift for Herself's other Brother, and how that gift didn't quite work out. Danes are more hunting dogs than herd dogs, and far too big for in-apartment living and low attention provisions. Harley never did stay with Herself's other Brother long, if at all, and Herself's Brother wound up bringing him back to the Ranch because he couldn't keep him happy either (roaming the neighborhood). And then he learned how to get off his line, or break it, and started roaming this neighborhood. Unfortunately for Harley, a big and rather assertive hunting dog roaming through domestic livestock country is a recipe for disaster and disaster found Harley early on New Years Morning and we buried him later that day, in the North Lawn of Studio 318 where once a 4x4 post end of his run line, broken off, existed. We used that to mark his grave, his Forever Bed. He's in the middle of that garden plot. We till around him. Both of us are thinking that planting somewhat ornamental flowers, types which will attract beneficial insects, is a good idea. Because we neither of us like the particular outcome of Harley Quinn's life.
Some of the music on my PC is... incomplete. Files Interruptus. This makes for some odd (and often irritating) listening. Alas.
Time for dinner.
Good bit of tilling done in the Gardens this weekend, until the equipment said ENUF NO WRKZ. This attitude proved insufficient reason when the Owned tiller said this; we rented one from the local Ace Hardware. That one did quite well, and provided me with some serious meditation in motion time. Until, alas, it too stopped progressing forward. That turns out to be due to a slipped drive pulley due to a loose nut.
Loose nut... Right. Yes, that could describe me as well. Shut Up, Fred.
Sunday, running the rented tiller, my mind ran on about helping Dad in his garden. Those thoughts included helping Dad, Dad most likely very much liking how much garden Herself is attempting to run, my own role as the Destroyer, something Dad learned and passed along to Herself, and the whole meditation in motion aspect of walking behind the tiller. It included sod-busting, horsepower measured for internal combustion, horse power as the 'traditional' method, and where we are with both of those. I contemplated getting Harrison Ford 8NTractor up and running, and the big, deep tiller that will provide.
I remembered Harley, Harley Quinn, the harlequin Great Dane that Herself's Brother bought as a gift for Herself's other Brother, and how that gift didn't quite work out. Danes are more hunting dogs than herd dogs, and far too big for in-apartment living and low attention provisions. Harley never did stay with Herself's other Brother long, if at all, and Herself's Brother wound up bringing him back to the Ranch because he couldn't keep him happy either (roaming the neighborhood). And then he learned how to get off his line, or break it, and started roaming this neighborhood. Unfortunately for Harley, a big and rather assertive hunting dog roaming through domestic livestock country is a recipe for disaster and disaster found Harley early on New Years Morning and we buried him later that day, in the North Lawn of Studio 318 where once a 4x4 post end of his run line, broken off, existed. We used that to mark his grave, his Forever Bed. He's in the middle of that garden plot. We till around him. Both of us are thinking that planting somewhat ornamental flowers, types which will attract beneficial insects, is a good idea. Because we neither of us like the particular outcome of Harley Quinn's life.
Some of the music on my PC is... incomplete. Files Interruptus. This makes for some odd (and often irritating) listening. Alas.
Time for dinner.