Summer Schedule

Good morning, y’all. We got a little liquid sunshine today and it has helped to cool things off a bit. All of the flora appreciated the drink, as well as the fauna, too. We still have the promise of flash storms or popup showers hitting our area at a moment’s notice. They bring a quick relief temperature wise, but then setup the steam room like conditions that are so deadly for old folks with BMI’s just South of Death Valley’s average temperature.

With just minimal exertion, I was able to completely soak through two different shirts today while doing my chores. You might say I’ve been shvitzing like a lady of questionable virtue in a house of worship today.

I have officially reached my self imposed exile from landscaping duties. No new projects. From here on in we are maintenance only at TackyToo. It has been posted:

Maintenance is strictly between the hours of 8AM to 10AM and 4PM to 6PM.

Reading about temperatures above 110 degrees in India doesn’t make me feel any better. Sometimes misery does not love company. Knowing that there’s people crazy enough to live where the temperature extremes are even worse than here in the mountains is not comforting. Knowing that there’s people crazier than me, as evidenced by their location, does not cool me off. The good news is that they’re not competing with me for my spot in the shade.

There, Mama always said “find something nice to say”.

The asphalt is not melting yet but the heat is building up in all things constructed of metal. Grabbing hold of the door handle on the maintenance shed was like grabbing hold of the hinges of the gates of Hell.

It would seem like an old-timer such as myself would remember that extreme temperatures require protective measures. Like touching your tongue to a frozen water spigot can bring disastrous results, so can touching metal that has been out in this sun. Another lesson learned the “Bud way”.

In all seriousness, there’s no point in tempting the Grim Reaper. We all know the Reaper waits around every corner for all of us old-timers who fail to heed the warnings of our bodies, or common sense.

The Reaper can strike while we’re reaching for that last weed to pull, or while we’re pouring a bucket of ice water over our heads trying to cool off. The Reaper is an equal opportunity assassin who lies in wait for his moment.

I hope to deny him for as long as I can. See my hours posted above.

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