Neanderpundit

is the things you can do.

A year ago I would not have been able ot mow my backyard, by myself, at all.

This year, I’ve mowed the lawn over and over again, by myself, in about twenty minutes flat. No huffing and puffing. My heart rate increases but I’m back to normal in a very few minutes. The last three weeks, I have not been able to mow, partially because of shoulder injury, partially because there was NO DAMNED RAIN.

Now, there’s been rain, and the backyard has sprung up like nobody;s business. SO I got out there tonight and mowed.

First of all, I have to say once again that the reccomends I got from Chris Byrne for boots (Danner Desert Acadia) Time was, I wore my “work” shoes to mow. Translation: Old street shoes, too worn to polish up anymore. Lots of times I took the laces out, to make it easier to get in and out of them in a hurry. And consequently, it killed my feet and legs. See, I would have to spend a whole lot of time worrying about my footing, wiht sloppy, loose fitting shoes, and it made mowing that much harder. And with a decent pair of boots, it’s (literally) a no brainer. As the boots held me in good stead on my hike, I’m inclined to get another pair for work, and wonder if I can get street shoes from Danner.

Anyway, the back slope is done, after helping the neighbor diagnose bad spark plugs in his truck.And since today, it rained like a horse pissing on a flat rock for two hours, it’s incredibly humid, so I wore a short sleeved teeshirt, someting I almost never do.

And the last thing I did before I put the mower away was to drive the damned thing through a cloit of poison ivy the size of an ottoman. Continue Reading »

Pelosi’s head is not on a pike outside the capital bulding?

Thatisall.

on dad’s part

was I always uninterested in sports.

We didn’t have softball or baseball leagues when I was a kid, though lots of the kids would play in our yard- slices of old, dead oaks as bases, the neighbor kids would swarm around and smack a ball around just about every summer’s day. Me, I’d rather be reading. But on a fine summer day, dad came out to the yard with a mitt and a ball and a bat, bound and determined to get me interested in baseball.

Hell, why not? I thought, if i could get to the point where I wouldn’t embarrass myself not being able to throw, or catch, or hit the ball, I might just enjoy this. besides, the couple of girls in the neighborhoos would sometimes also play, and I was just beginning to notice the dirfference between girls and boys, so what the hell.

So dad and I tossed the ball back and fourth- he catching the ball regularly, me dropping it with the same regularity. He got frustrated with me, but to his credit, he never yelled or chided me, he only encouraged.

Anyway, after some time he decided maybe if I couldn’t catch the ball I might be able to swat it. So he stood me up over a 2″ slice of white oak as a plate, and started tossing the ball. Here I did a little better, actually making contact with a few balls, but most of them went foul.

“I want you to try to hit it straight out here, ok?”

I had been trying to hit the ball but not hit dad, but he assured me he’d get out of the way, so I swung, hit, and he caught it in midair

I felt like a million dollars. He grinned from ear to ear. And threw the ball again.

I flung that bat around with all my might, connected,

And hit him directly in the face.

The ball hit him right between the eyes, and laid him out like a mackerel. Oh My God! I killed dad! I flung the bat and ran out to him, where he was groaning, rolled over on his side, levered himself to his feet, all the time telling me it wasn’t my fault as i cried and apologised.

Don’t think I ever picked up a bat again while he was alive.

For the rest of his life the top of his nose was shaped like the curve of a baseball..

May have contributed to my disinterest in the sport.