I'm More Tired Than You Right Now
People this morning noticed the telltale thumb blister, the kind that only forms from quality time spent with a rake, shovel, broom or other implement of horticultural destruction.
I used all that and so much more this weekend as I set out to make the final push in getting all the Hurricane Rita home repairs finally in the rear-view mirror.
In addition to matching thumb blisters, I've got an assortment of hand and arm scratches. I'm picking at some pesky splinters, and a fingernail hurts thanks to accidentally getting a bunch of dirt in it during a poorly executed dig into a post hole.
To ensure maximum tiredness today, I started Saturday at 5:30 a.m. with a 20-mile run, the last long run during the training leading up to the Nashville marathon in two weeks. After the run, we took the kids to the Easter egg hunt at the church. I might blog about that if I can muster up some energy.
Returning from the church, I put on my grubbies and went to town on the mammoth sand pile, for which I've bitten off more than I can shovel. A neighbor did not take all of his half, so that left me to hump as much sand around the yard as I could.
Despite the effort, in addition to inviting neighbors over for some free sand, I've still got a long way to go. If you want some free 60-40 sand, just let me know.
Yesterday morning, after church, I put the grubbies back on and attacked the last, but certainly not least, damaged backyard fence section.
Rita pushed over a 25-yard fence chunk, snapping two poles. Three other poles needed to be righted and re-cemented. I figured the easiest way to do all this was to remove cross sections, fix posts and then nail back together the whole shooting match. The cross sections weigh about 150 pounds apiece, in my estimation, so I might need some help.
Post-hole digging is tough work. The three leaners were easily righted. I quickly was able to dig out one of the busted posts, but the second proved to be stubborn.
Typical fence posts are 8 feet long and go deep into the ground. Despite having all of the old concrete excavated, this post wouldn't budge. So I dug and dug and dug, occasionally stopping to use my hand to pull out the excess dirt. The thing barely moved, so I put some water in the hole.
The neighbor found great amusement in my progress after that, because every time I plunged a shovel or giant crowbar into the hole, geysers of mud spewed out and cascaded over me. One of her children, a 5-year-old, served as supervisor, inspiring me with comments such as, "You're never going to get that out of the hole."
A hour or so later, I finally extracted that !%$%^$#@!!!! post.
Last night, I was in that occasional state of being so tired that sleep is elusive. This morning, I've got aches in muscles I didn't know I had. My hands feel raw and battle-worn. My legs are stiff. My eyes are glazed.
Nevertheless, this weekend, I'll take on the task of nailing up the fence sections. Good fences might make good neighbors, but this fence represents the final chapter in the seven-month-long struggle to repair what Rita broke.
And when I'm done, I'm going to pop open a beer, sit on my covered porch and take joy in swatting carpenter bees with my child's plastic baseball bat.
Just like I did on many weekend afternoons before Sept. 24, 2005.
I used all that and so much more this weekend as I set out to make the final push in getting all the Hurricane Rita home repairs finally in the rear-view mirror.
In addition to matching thumb blisters, I've got an assortment of hand and arm scratches. I'm picking at some pesky splinters, and a fingernail hurts thanks to accidentally getting a bunch of dirt in it during a poorly executed dig into a post hole.
To ensure maximum tiredness today, I started Saturday at 5:30 a.m. with a 20-mile run, the last long run during the training leading up to the Nashville marathon in two weeks. After the run, we took the kids to the Easter egg hunt at the church. I might blog about that if I can muster up some energy.
Returning from the church, I put on my grubbies and went to town on the mammoth sand pile, for which I've bitten off more than I can shovel. A neighbor did not take all of his half, so that left me to hump as much sand around the yard as I could.
Despite the effort, in addition to inviting neighbors over for some free sand, I've still got a long way to go. If you want some free 60-40 sand, just let me know.
Yesterday morning, after church, I put the grubbies back on and attacked the last, but certainly not least, damaged backyard fence section.
Rita pushed over a 25-yard fence chunk, snapping two poles. Three other poles needed to be righted and re-cemented. I figured the easiest way to do all this was to remove cross sections, fix posts and then nail back together the whole shooting match. The cross sections weigh about 150 pounds apiece, in my estimation, so I might need some help.
Post-hole digging is tough work. The three leaners were easily righted. I quickly was able to dig out one of the busted posts, but the second proved to be stubborn.
Typical fence posts are 8 feet long and go deep into the ground. Despite having all of the old concrete excavated, this post wouldn't budge. So I dug and dug and dug, occasionally stopping to use my hand to pull out the excess dirt. The thing barely moved, so I put some water in the hole.
The neighbor found great amusement in my progress after that, because every time I plunged a shovel or giant crowbar into the hole, geysers of mud spewed out and cascaded over me. One of her children, a 5-year-old, served as supervisor, inspiring me with comments such as, "You're never going to get that out of the hole."
A hour or so later, I finally extracted that !%$%^$#@!!!! post.
Last night, I was in that occasional state of being so tired that sleep is elusive. This morning, I've got aches in muscles I didn't know I had. My hands feel raw and battle-worn. My legs are stiff. My eyes are glazed.
Nevertheless, this weekend, I'll take on the task of nailing up the fence sections. Good fences might make good neighbors, but this fence represents the final chapter in the seven-month-long struggle to repair what Rita broke.
And when I'm done, I'm going to pop open a beer, sit on my covered porch and take joy in swatting carpenter bees with my child's plastic baseball bat.
Just like I did on many weekend afternoons before Sept. 24, 2005.
posted by Brian Pearson at 12:48 PM
1 Comments:
Dont forget the mosquitos that go with those bees!!!!!!!!!!!
Its unreal.. I'm sorry your hands are hurting.. My hubby is stil using chain saws to empty our back yard of trees.. And he has been doing that ont eh weekends for months now.. its like the national forest in my back yard.. I cant wait till I can look at my house nad yard and not see RITA everywhere..
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