captainsblog | Fetch me....a shrubbery!

Quite a busy Fathers Eve (and no, that is not a new masculine hygiene product).

Early on, I did the usual Saturday morning running-about to office, bank and post office, and am happy to report after those that I'm about as solvent as I've been in years. We also detoured to the car repair place to replace the increasingly noisy sway bars on the front end of my car, took Em and Cameron to and from seeing Toy Story 3, and exploded my brain watching the second-to-last Who of the season. I've decided not to comment or speculate on it until after next weekend's finale, since it's really the first of the Late Ten/Early Eleven saga to overload my brain with too much of the prior-year backstory- so much so I needed a scorecard to keep them all straight.

So, naturally, I made one:

By far, though, our biggest effort of yesterday was defoliating a victory garden (which, as all Tirebiters know, sure works up an appetite). Long ago, Eleanor had planted a whole garden along our western property line, which got all gorked when a neighbor's landscrapers completely changed the drainage from their yard into ours some years back. All kinds of trees then self-seeded along that line, and she spent the better part of yesterday whacking and hacking away at them all to get it down to near-nekkid beds again. I then came upon it to mow, and had to pack the leavings before I could do so.

That's just two of the five cans of it that I picked up after. The others were essentially piled too high to even fit in the garage.

I then mowed more than half of the back forty and promptly fell down exhausted. But happy exhausted.

Also, Cameron got me a Fathers Day card (as did the actual spawn, who gave it to me this morning). When his mom came to pick him up last night, we gave her a brief tour of the back gardens, and one of our pet toads made an appearance. Eleanor gave him to me to hold while she turned on the patio lights, and as he proceeded to ribbit (and quite possibly pee) in my hand, I bent down and gave him a little peck on the gullet.

Me: Hey, you never know when you might find a gay prince.
Eleanor (rather apologetically, to Shelly): We're so strange.

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Today, much less ambitious. The grownups did make it to church; as we left, I noticed that the ages-ago Convenient Food store at the back of the car park they let us use on Sunday mornings (which for years I've referred to as the "Quickie Mart" in Apu's honor) continues to be vacant after the last of many failed owners finally amscrayed in May. Since it'd been hot enough in the sanctuary for the minister to notice how uncomfortable Eleanor was, I modestly suggested that we rent it out and move services in there for the summer months. It would require a few liturgical adjustments- mainly replacing the elements of the Lord's Supper with beef jerky and beer (and Slurpees for the kids!)- but hey, we're Methodist, and can make a sacramental experience out of pretty much anything.

Beyond that, I have about one-third of a back lawn still to mow, and one-third of a Subway Series to watch. Pity I already filled out my scorecard.