The Farm Manager likes to keep me moving around. As in, could you get your ass off the couch for ten minutes and hang the wash?
So I do. And it's good for me. Not so much hanging the wash specifically, but moving around.
As far as the wash goes, she's just as happy to shove everything in the dryer, even after I put up that beauty solar dryer aka clothesline a couple years ago.
So there'll be a load 'o Levis spinning round in the dryer, when it's a dry 28 C, 100 F with a nice light dry breeze going on.
But I can explain that.
In the division of duties here at Falling Downs, one of my duties is to pay the hydro bill.
But at least she keeps me moving.
So I was considering the to-do list. This is a woman thing. Guys don't make to-do lists. Unless of course a woman is pushing him into it.
Among everything else that is falling down here at Falling Downs, the railing on the balcony seems to be disintegrating. I've been collecting the various bits as they fall to the ground, intending at some point to patch them back into the railing, or what's left of it.
Here's the thing. That railing, built in 1914, is about knee-level on me.
I love the balcony. It would, if anybody ever got off the couch and fired up a chainsaw to cut back all the overgrowth, afford a view over Bass Lake. As it stands, I pretty much only use the balcony to ruminate over the ying and yang of life, and have a drink, or maybe two...
Which is why that knee-level railing disturbs me. How easy would it be to just bump up against that railing, after a spell of ruminating, and... whoopsie!
So, ya, why does this always come up on the so-called "to-do" list?
By the way, a lot of folks refer to this as the "Honey-Dew" list, as in "Honey do this, Honey do that."
That's not how it works around here.