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The knee brace is helping. Maybe.
The weed wacker is useless. Probably. The weeds I need to wack are thick and tall, and this is a very low-end piece of equipment, designed primarily to edge lawns. It would cost around $400 to buy a piece of equipment specifically designed for taking out weeds like mine, and I ain't blowing that kind of money on a weed wacker.
I got to the garden around 11 yesterday. It was already 82°, so I only lasted 20 minutes or so. The older I get, the less I can stand up to heat. I remember biking around Sicily with my first husband before Ichabod was born; we would routinely bike 100 miles a day in 100° heat. How did I manage to do that?
Anyway, I took the weed wacker to some weeds, and it promptly fell apart.
It was wayyyyy too hot to continue weeding by hand.
So, I went home and watched YouTube videos—had I put it together the right way when I was assembling the damn thing? I have no intuition whatsoever when it comes to mechanical stuff. Was I using it the right way?
No one recommends using it for heavy weeds!
But if you must use it for heavy weeds, then you should tackle them from the top down.
Which, of course, I hadn't been doing.
But which I will shortly attempt to do today when I toddle out to the garden at 8.
If that doesn't work, I'll return the damn thing.
###
My weed wacker misadventures made me feel very pathetic.
Honestly, I wanted to curl up in a little ball and cry.
Why don't I have someone in my life who can do this kind of shit for me?
Because you don't! snapped the small, still voice within, which tends to get angry whenever I wallow in self-pity. And nobody wants to watch a 74-year-old lady cry. Particularly not the 74-year-old lady herself.
I was discussing the details of my July trip with Tom and mentioned the BoyZ were coming round to why I might want to move: "Their big objection is around the potential for physical decrepitude!!! 'What if you need help?'
"I explained it thusly: 'Well, I'm pretty sure Tom would be willing to drive me to the cataract doctor & pretty sure he wouldn't be willing to give me a bed bath if I went into a coma on his couch.'"
Tom laughed. "Did you tell the boys I'm a simple midwesterner with no serial killer tendencies and that I keep my sexual predation to a minimum around roomies? I haven't broached anything with Zoe and Rudy - they are used to me just springing things on them. But they'll be fine and have the same questions the boys do. I think Zoe will be a little relieved that someone will be around keeping an eye on me. She believes I need a minder."
A minder!
Yes, that's exactly it.
Someone who tracks you. Someone who is noticing the small victories & defeats of your day-by-day.
The weed wacker is useless. Probably. The weeds I need to wack are thick and tall, and this is a very low-end piece of equipment, designed primarily to edge lawns. It would cost around $400 to buy a piece of equipment specifically designed for taking out weeds like mine, and I ain't blowing that kind of money on a weed wacker.
I got to the garden around 11 yesterday. It was already 82°, so I only lasted 20 minutes or so. The older I get, the less I can stand up to heat. I remember biking around Sicily with my first husband before Ichabod was born; we would routinely bike 100 miles a day in 100° heat. How did I manage to do that?
Anyway, I took the weed wacker to some weeds, and it promptly fell apart.
It was wayyyyy too hot to continue weeding by hand.
So, I went home and watched YouTube videos—had I put it together the right way when I was assembling the damn thing? I have no intuition whatsoever when it comes to mechanical stuff. Was I using it the right way?
No one recommends using it for heavy weeds!
But if you must use it for heavy weeds, then you should tackle them from the top down.
Which, of course, I hadn't been doing.
But which I will shortly attempt to do today when I toddle out to the garden at 8.
If that doesn't work, I'll return the damn thing.
###
My weed wacker misadventures made me feel very pathetic.
Honestly, I wanted to curl up in a little ball and cry.
Why don't I have someone in my life who can do this kind of shit for me?
Because you don't! snapped the small, still voice within, which tends to get angry whenever I wallow in self-pity. And nobody wants to watch a 74-year-old lady cry. Particularly not the 74-year-old lady herself.
I was discussing the details of my July trip with Tom and mentioned the BoyZ were coming round to why I might want to move: "Their big objection is around the potential for physical decrepitude!!! 'What if you need help?'
"I explained it thusly: 'Well, I'm pretty sure Tom would be willing to drive me to the cataract doctor & pretty sure he wouldn't be willing to give me a bed bath if I went into a coma on his couch.'"
Tom laughed. "Did you tell the boys I'm a simple midwesterner with no serial killer tendencies and that I keep my sexual predation to a minimum around roomies? I haven't broached anything with Zoe and Rudy - they are used to me just springing things on them. But they'll be fine and have the same questions the boys do. I think Zoe will be a little relieved that someone will be around keeping an eye on me. She believes I need a minder."
A minder!
Yes, that's exactly it.
Someone who tracks you. Someone who is noticing the small victories & defeats of your day-by-day.
