Saturday, July 22, 2017
Sunday, July 16, 2017
Sunday. "Funday?"
Dear Reader,
For those of you who may be wondering how things are going at Highlands Bangor, you will be delighted to know that our crop of itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot strawberries is ripening. At least, those that survive mowing. In fact, wild strawberries constitute a substantial portion of what some would call our "lawn".
Today, in an attempt to take back said lawn, Fenchurch started up the mower (which required more than two pulls on the starter despite the guarantees painted on the side of the mower). The mower protested that it was neither a scythe nor a weed whacker and it did not like to do this kind of work. Given that mowers don't speak, you may well wonder how it communicated these opinions to Fenchurch. Principally by clogging, choking and dying every second row. During the quiet interludes when Fenchurch was cajoling the mower back to mowing, Butterface's roooooo of hopeless despair could be heard from the house. She was alone. Alone! And it was dinner time.... and there was NO DINNER. She was in the dinner room.... at dinner time..... but, no dinner......so alone....ROOOOOOO.
All in all, it was a sad hour for the strawberries, the mower, Fenchurch and Butterface.
And during this time of suffering, where were Zaphod and Trillian? Naturally they were doing what all child-free parents on a weekend away do - they were shopping for bargains on planers and dust collection systems.
In fact, these last several weeks have been a period of prioritizing, re-prioritizing, figuring out and shopping for light fixtures. Fenchurch has been grateful to have the company and help of Runi who planted a garden for the little people, cleaned many things, helped Zaphod demo and fix and fish wires through walls, and loved on Butterface, the demanding, entitled, chowhound. And at the end of it all, she promised to come back in 6 months - mostly because her tickets are non-refundable.
More about our next big project coming soon.
From,
Fenchurch
For those of you who may be wondering how things are going at Highlands Bangor, you will be delighted to know that our crop of itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot strawberries is ripening. At least, those that survive mowing. In fact, wild strawberries constitute a substantial portion of what some would call our "lawn".
Today, in an attempt to take back said lawn, Fenchurch started up the mower (which required more than two pulls on the starter despite the guarantees painted on the side of the mower). The mower protested that it was neither a scythe nor a weed whacker and it did not like to do this kind of work. Given that mowers don't speak, you may well wonder how it communicated these opinions to Fenchurch. Principally by clogging, choking and dying every second row. During the quiet interludes when Fenchurch was cajoling the mower back to mowing, Butterface's roooooo of hopeless despair could be heard from the house. She was alone. Alone! And it was dinner time.... and there was NO DINNER. She was in the dinner room.... at dinner time..... but, no dinner......so alone....ROOOOOOO.
All in all, it was a sad hour for the strawberries, the mower, Fenchurch and Butterface.
And during this time of suffering, where were Zaphod and Trillian? Naturally they were doing what all child-free parents on a weekend away do - they were shopping for bargains on planers and dust collection systems.
In fact, these last several weeks have been a period of prioritizing, re-prioritizing, figuring out and shopping for light fixtures. Fenchurch has been grateful to have the company and help of Runi who planted a garden for the little people, cleaned many things, helped Zaphod demo and fix and fish wires through walls, and loved on Butterface, the demanding, entitled, chowhound. And at the end of it all, she promised to come back in 6 months - mostly because her tickets are non-refundable.
More about our next big project coming soon.
From,
Fenchurch
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