Thursday, June 30, 2011

This, That, and some other Damn Things

Today was the ugliest day of the month (TM): bill-pay day. Ugh. $1,000 in the hole.

We just had 6 yards of garden mulch delivered to maison Elliott. After making arrangements with High Desert Mulching to have the stuff brought over in their smallest dump truck (following much discussion about wheelbase, height of truck, etc.), the guy that took the order didn't pass this bit of information on to the driver who arrived right on schedule ... in a huge fucking dump truck, one far too large to go down the little driveway beside the house. Poor fellow had to go back and transfer the load and bring it back out in their smallest truck.

It fit -- just.

So now there's this giant heap of High Desert Blend (sounds like a coffee) waiting to be strewn amongst the foliage.

This will happen tomorrow. And so will edging the lawns.

I, accompanied by the groundskeeper and my wolfhounds, paced off the lawns and determined that 240 feet of vinyl edging is needed to contain the grass -- grass which is positively bursting into the flower beds -- and bought four 60-foot rolls from Home Despot. Mind, I would have Bought Local, but after calling around no one -- get this -- no gardening center or landscaping company in Bend has landscape edging. "Call one of the big box stores," was the advice I received.

Oh well, we're working on the cheap so you do what you gotta do. If I'd had my 'druthers, I'd-a bought brick pavers.

So. Today I was feeling a little under the weather -- sore throat, gastrointestinal upset-- but after paying the damn bills, I scraped up enough energy to take apart my second-hand Spanish-American war-era Hi Lift jack (part of the tackle I've assembled to pull my camper van's ass out of stuck places) and cleaned it so (a) it can be painted some other color -- red? Mellow Yellow ivory? Black?* -- then (b) rebuilt with new bits to operates smoothly.

These jacks go by the generic name "farm jack", and like most tools used around a farm, they can, and will, maim or kill without warning. So keeping it in good operating condition reduces the chance of having a minor annoyance, such as getting stuck in sand, turn into a life-threatening (or ending) situation.

Meanwhile, Mrs Elliott had other goals today. She employed several teenage girls -- daughter and friends of an employee -- to assemble and package trinkets to take to a conference, which takes place a couple weeks from now in, um, Pittsburgh or some damn place.

While she's gone, I'll be camping. Dunno where, yet. North Fork John Day river? My son is dropping by tomorrow so we can take a drive along the Metolius to check out the camping opportunities there.

IN OTHER NEWS, the Volcano Funk Fest is at the end of July. I just found out that a previous obligation has been canceled, so I can go. KPOV's "Dr. G" tells me that the Band To See is Big Sam's Funky Nation. More than music, she assures me: they put on a show. Dr. G is from New Orleans. She knows from funk. And if the lady says that Big Sam's Funk Nation be the band, I am there.

They are scheduled to go on stage at midnight.

I'm gonna need a whole lot of coffee.
* Son recommends hammertone gray and fire-engine red.


  1. That thing there is called a handyman jack.

  2. I like your son's recommendation for the color scheme of the jack.

    'Course if you want a real Central Oregon rig you should paint not only the jack but the whole van in camo.


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