Sunday, April 29, 2001

Hello there, gentle reader. What did you tune for today? Intrigue? Romance? Angst? Anger? Well, let's see what we can rustle up ... nope, just boring ol' family stuff.

The treehouse was re-assembled Saturday, with Banana making renovation plans (a partial roof and clubhouse) after only one season of use. The camouflage netting, rope ladder, tarzan swing and basket-on-a-pulley dumbwaiter have already lost their lustre. Man, I woulda killed to have a setup like that as a kid.

My Dad was in town this weekend, and both he and my mom were in the company of the grandkids and were trying to out-spoil each other. While one was giving five dallar bills out, the other was dispensing chocolate and ice cream after our regular bed time, and then letting them stay up until after midnight. Maybe I can get a restraining order.

Sunday morning started off well, too, as Jenn dragged me out for a run. I kept up nicely for a twenty minute jaunt, but I really should get out more. Especially if I want to be able to keep up with my kids. Banana wants to enter a kids triathlon this year. That's a chip off the ol' block.

Tidying up the yard, and what should come wafting through the air but the song, "Countin' Flowers On The Wall," by the Statler Brothers. Wooo, memories of my childhood came flooding back ... of sitting at home in Sherwood Park, in our three bedroom bungalow in the living room, on that burnt umber carpet in front of the eight track stereo listening to these guys. And dammit if that song wasn't stuck in my head for the rest of the afternoon.

I got to play with a power tool that I was previously inexperienced with - a rototiller. I chewed up the appropriate parts of the garden today, and it gave me a very satisfying feeling to be turning soil. The garden at the back of our property is a small patch, but it will be home to peas, carrots, corn (new this year), raspberries, sweet peas (for the flowers), spinach, and beets. The peas are a special treat for the girls, as they are harder to keep away from ripe peas than barn swallows. As I struggled to direct the 40+ year-old antique (lent to me by my mom's neighbor) in the proper direction, trying to stay out of the existing asparagus patch, I felt the sun and probably the spirit of my grandfather, the carpenter and gentleman farmer shining down on me.

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