Max arrived early this evening for a visit. Since it's been three weeks since his last visit, I'm especially glad to see him. It's been so long that he hadn't had a chance to try the new batch of bacon; so we had BLTs for supper. His response on his first bite was all a cook could hope for: "OMG, this is fucking wonderful!" (Remember, we have no kids to curb our use of profanity, nor do we mind an occasional profane word.)
After unpacking the truck, he gallantly went out back to see if he could get the lawn mower started. I'd mowed a bit for Larry to till the garden area, and for the life of me couldn't get it started again, which left it sitting outside. Guess it showered last night because he plopped down on the seat and immediately got a wet pair of pants for his kindness.
We'll likely not come close to doing all the things we'd like to do while he's in this weekend. The bad thing is that it seems it will be another 3 weeks before he can visit again. That's bad in the spring. In fact, that's about the worst thing that could happen.
For one thing, we really need to finish taking out the cabinet in the garage so I can park the truck in there. That's going to take some time. Additionally, Larry broke the ground for the garden, but I need Max to till it. I've ordered some heritage transplants that I want to try, and there are a rose bush, a lilac, and 4 raspberry bushes needing holes dug for them.
Face it, there are things that can be done by an out-of-shape, middle-aged woman, but they can still be done far more easily by an out-of-shape, middle-aged man. I've been bushwhacking overgrown bushes and pruning deadwood from about a dozen dogwood trees neglected for the last decade. Three hours of that at a time is about all I can do right now. Hopefully I'll eventually get back into some semblance of physical fitness.
Anyway, I wouldn't have bought the plants if I'd known Max wasn't going to be able to come up at least two weekends in a row. Y'all better invest money in an Ibuprofen company - I'm gonna be running the stock up.
A minute ago when I walked through the living room, Lola was sitting there waving her hand around and pointing. I laughed and asked her if she was talking to herself. She laughed and said she was. I just told her I hoped she was having a good conversation.
We had a few days last week that I didn't have to wash bedsheets. That was nice. It's a sure thing now that I have to do laundry at least every other day. Who knew that 4 pairs of pajamas were not going to be enough? Seriously, though, if she gets the pair wet that she's been sleeping in, and then has an accident during the day, that makes three pairs of jammies in one day. So the 4th pair gets used the next morning, and I bloody well better get a load of washing done.
She's still able to walk, but she's creeping even more and more slowly. I do hope she remains able to walk until her death. Her appetite hasn't waned one bit. She still eats most anything I put in front of her, and eats all of it usually.