I knew girl named Summer in high school. She had a nice end. I’ve got some work to do before the snow falls, so the break in the heat is welcome, but winter always brings difficulties. Yes I know summer doesn’t really end for another 3 weeks or so with the Autumnal Equinox. I don’t celebrate commie holidays, so I needed another theme. I choose to celebrate Labor Day most years by working as hard as I can at something for which I won’t be paid, as a remembrance of what communism really is.
The toe of a dromedary.
First day of preschool. Pray for Oso.
If she wrecks, that’s a whole lotta road rash.
We’re running low on Summer, folks. School has already started in some (commie) school districts. Beaches will be cold and empty soon, but at least we won’t be mowing too many more times.
I think they call this “glistening”.
My workday ambushed me as I was getting this ready, thus the delay. Plus I was up a little late brainstorming with the wife about how to deal with Possum’s extremely limited menu (far, far fewer than the ’30 items’ standard for picky eaters).
A day at the lake.
So if you ever let parts of your lawn “go” in the hopes of making hay out of it, you’ll get some surprises. You may find that some of it is actually rye and timothy, which will grow tall and straight and will become hay readily, but you’ll likely also find that quite a bit of it… doesn’t. You’ll see some grass that has thin, whispy blades that fall down, twist into cowlicks, and generally get matted like a long-haired cat with bad grooming habits. If you subsequently try to mow that, you’ll learn that there’s a limited amount of torque your mower is actually capable of exerting, and you’ll get to do a few restarts, assuming you can even clear the deck and let the blade spin again.
Meg squats is her yoo boob channel.
Power outage yesterday helped us learn that the breaker in the house labeled “barn” might not be connected to, well, anything. The barn appears to be wired to a breaker labeled “OUT” in the breaker box in the other basement. Neat!
Big balls around this place.
Mother’s Day went well at our house, and I pray the same is true in yours.
Not my mom.
The Official Sports Team of The Hostages
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