homebody
My to-do list began with the vacuum. I got into the living room and decided to rearrange a bit. so I cleaned behind the couch, coffee table and the BIG speaker. Now the couch is close to the fireplace (will need to be moved when we actually USE it for fires) and the coffee table is near the entrance. I think it opens it up.
Then I looked at my piles of CDs. They needed sorting. I still need to match discs to some absent cases but otherwise, it's okay. I didn't realize that my "M" section was SO HUGE. Granted, most is Moxy Fruvous. :)
I found a pot for the pot-bound vine that was given to us by my sis-in-law, the confessed plant-killer. We adopted it so that she might not kill again. I wanted to find a Nice Pot but I'll just paint this plain terracotta one. I'm thinking I can do something artistic with my acrylics and some spray gold and sealer.
Today's big job: to do something about the scat in the backyard. That's right. some animal has decided to drop their feces in the middle of that sloping patch of 'lawn' that's overridden with weeds. I guess it's the neighbour's mom's little dog. They think it's my cat. I don't think my cat ever eats that much. and cherry pits?
Sorry for the visual there. Anyway, I get a couple of shovels and a rake, ready to bury most of it and cover the area with a dusting of dirt from the fallow 'flower' beds. As I'm just burying the last of what I can bury, out comes the guy from downstairs. Dave. sexist pig. I guess he's nice enough but he was just TOO amused at the sight of me digging around in the backyard. He'd say things like "you're going to do that yourself? Look, you even have all the tools," like it's cute that I'm out there doing this or am I supposed to be flattered? Maybe I should have worn a baggy t-shirt instead of a fitted one.
"I grew up on a farm," I told Dave, expecting him to understand that I'm not some little girl who thinks spiders are icky and that manual labour is beneath me. Granted, I can't lift heavy stuff but that's another issue.
So after spreading the dirt I go to get the sprinkler. With this weather, feces will not decompose. I'd rather it decompose under a layer of dirt. Make sense? Dave didn't think so. He seemed to think that the water would make it stink more. Not that he could smell anything to begin with, mind you. My response: if it still stinks after this, I'll put down another layer of dirt. I don't think that the weeds I'm burying will be at much of a disadvantage. Oh and the water should keep my cat out as well.
Then I looked at my piles of CDs. They needed sorting. I still need to match discs to some absent cases but otherwise, it's okay. I didn't realize that my "M" section was SO HUGE. Granted, most is Moxy Fruvous. :)
I found a pot for the pot-bound vine that was given to us by my sis-in-law, the confessed plant-killer. We adopted it so that she might not kill again. I wanted to find a Nice Pot but I'll just paint this plain terracotta one. I'm thinking I can do something artistic with my acrylics and some spray gold and sealer.
Today's big job: to do something about the scat in the backyard. That's right. some animal has decided to drop their feces in the middle of that sloping patch of 'lawn' that's overridden with weeds. I guess it's the neighbour's mom's little dog. They think it's my cat. I don't think my cat ever eats that much. and cherry pits?
Sorry for the visual there. Anyway, I get a couple of shovels and a rake, ready to bury most of it and cover the area with a dusting of dirt from the fallow 'flower' beds. As I'm just burying the last of what I can bury, out comes the guy from downstairs. Dave. sexist pig. I guess he's nice enough but he was just TOO amused at the sight of me digging around in the backyard. He'd say things like "you're going to do that yourself? Look, you even have all the tools," like it's cute that I'm out there doing this or am I supposed to be flattered? Maybe I should have worn a baggy t-shirt instead of a fitted one.
"I grew up on a farm," I told Dave, expecting him to understand that I'm not some little girl who thinks spiders are icky and that manual labour is beneath me. Granted, I can't lift heavy stuff but that's another issue.
So after spreading the dirt I go to get the sprinkler. With this weather, feces will not decompose. I'd rather it decompose under a layer of dirt. Make sense? Dave didn't think so. He seemed to think that the water would make it stink more. Not that he could smell anything to begin with, mind you. My response: if it still stinks after this, I'll put down another layer of dirt. I don't think that the weeds I'm burying will be at much of a disadvantage. Oh and the water should keep my cat out as well.