Mr. Lawn, of the recently neutered Lawns, is highly annoyed that he can’t go outside. The vet instructions said no playing ball in the house and also no going outside. Are we the last generation to get all Brady Bunch references like they’re our second language or will the millennials also know these from reruns?
Also, just to be annoying, Edsel has asked to go out FOUR TIMES this morning and I haven’t been awake an hour yet. So then I have to panickedly let him out in a rush, lest we have the charging of the Forest, and it rankles. The last thing Edsel ever wants to do is rankle me but he did. I swear he goes out there and forgets why he’s in that room.
…Ah. As I’ve typed you, I can see the pain pill is kicking in, a pill I don’t think Forest Lawn needs today but that will ensure he will rest and not tear outside to get dirt in his parts. It’s his last one, so I can’t drug him into submission after this.
Anyway, hi. That’s the last I have to say about that, maybe. I’m at my kitchen table this morning. Below is the current situation, now with drug eyes.
Here’s my outside view, and would it KILL me to put the chairs back facing the right way when I’m done with them??
The yard looks pretty, doesn’t it? Let me tell you what’s back there right now: acorns. The lawn guy fertilized my yard some weeks back, with grass seed, so he can’t BLOW the yard, lest the seeds just blow all over yonder. So although he cut my grass recently, the acorns remain.
And I don’t just mean some acorns. It’s the difference between the Hershey with Almonds and those bars you can buy for a dollar to raise funds, where every millimeter has an almond in it. Walking across my yard is like walking on a beach that has rocks instead of sand. I realize sand is just rocks that got old, but you know what I mean. We’re talking acorns, is what I mean.
Doesn’t it mean a hard winter, if you have a lot of acorns? Do you wish I’d say “acorns” more often?
Does anyone know what kind of winter we’re supposed to have? I was recently on a walk with someone in my quarantine bubble—there are like four people I’ll see—and we happened upon a persimmon tree. “Oh!” I said, because I am Dick, Jane and Sally. “Oh! Oh! If you cut a persimmon, the seed shape inside tells you what kind of winter it’s supposed to be!”
It’s true. Well. You know. “True.” If it looks like a fork, it’s mild weather. Spoon-shaped means lots of snow to shovel. A knife means cutting, bitterly cold. This was maybe a month ago so hang on while I scroll my phone looking for the cut persimmon. Let me get your opinion on this …
OK, what the hell is this? Cause it looks like a seed to me. How the hell can we predict anything with this vague seed? Geez. You try to be scientific.
Is it a spoon? It looks more like a thought bubble.
Anyway, I have to go. As per usual, I have to begin working and also spend the whole day monitoring the door. Doing some deForestation.
God, I’m hilarious.