SELF-TORTURE AND OTHER FORMS OF HOUSEHOLD CHORES

What was going to be a pleasant Saturday this past weekend turned out to be worst than the Battan Death March.

What happened? Well I wanted to plant a few bushes in front of the house, and took the little woman with me to the nursery to purchase what was needed. The little woman said we need some mulch, and since it is cheaper to buy it loose, we would go that route. 5 yards worth. Do you know what you can cover with 5 yards??? If you lay 2” thick, and spread it evenly, you can pretty much (pretty mulch) cover the U.S and that includes Alaska and Hawaii. I had the stuff delivered and deposited on my driveway. At 11:30 it was delivered, and I started the process of planting and spreading, over the area for the bushes, and around my property where I saw fit. Soon I realized that it was indeed too much mulch. (I love it.) I started getting desperate, and started offering it to neighbors, and strangers, and relatives, and anyone who was wondering what the *&^%$#@@!! #%*^%# that smell was.

Soon creeping back pain took over, along with stabbing pain in my foot, as I toiled in the sun and lugged wheel barrel after wheel barrel to different locations in my yard. Shovel, fill the wheel barrel, push it to wherever, and dump. That was the exercise. I thought that it would substitute for my walk for the day. I didn’t figure for the whole month! The little woman was safely away somewhere with a pre-scheduled event, and my son was busy emptying the cover of the pool of leaves, so there I was alone. As this labor continued on my part, my son was miraculously finished, showered, eating something when he came over to offer encouragement. It went something like this: “boy, did you ever notice that the more you shovel, the more there seems to be?” He said this on the other side of Mount Mulch, so I really didn’t get a glimpse of him, but I did hear him.

My advice to anyone who reads this: don’t buy mulch loose, and if you do, ignore it.