M and I have been planning a raised bed garden forever and we told ourselves that we would do it after tax season. Our life revolves around "tax season". I have come to hate those words, even though it provides for us. At any rate, last Friday, M went to the lumber yard and came back much poorer and with ginormous slabs of redwood 2 X 12's and 4 X 4's.
Says he, "grab an end and help me get this into the back yard". In-the-name-of-all-that's-holy, I almost died! After we were through I looked up at him from the ground and said "This is not what I envisioned doing at 70 years old". He just looked at me, grinned and said "You're not 70 yet." I may not make it, either.
Saturday morning after I got my ample but incredibly sore butt out of bed, we started building the thing which meant moving each piece, cutting each piece and assembling each piece off site. More whining from the old woman. Sunday was a repeat of Saturday except we got to move this HUGE box into place.
Monday we got to shovel planting soil into the wheelbarrow and then shovel it into the box adding all sorts of wonderful stuff that comes in large bags and is supposed to make you Jack and be able to grow the Beanstalk. Beanstalks are fairly inexpensive at our Grower's Market throughout the summer, but they wouldn't be OUR beanstalks. We only got half of the box filled, so after more Motrin and a vodka martini, I had the leisure to contemplate what was in my near future. I am walking like Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame and here's the kicker:
We took today off to do........wait for it........tax returns.
Some deity, somewhere, is rolling on the floor laughing his ass off.
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