I had a really good weekend, one wherein I got a lot of little things accomplished around the house. You know, just little stuff I’ve been putting off all week, like filling the bird feeders and cleaning the bird bath and giving the hummingbirds fresh food, and stuff like that. I stayed busy most of the day Saturday (though I did make time for a Saturday afternoon nap), slept like a log, and got up to get more stuff done on Sunday.
The garden didn’t require much tending this weekend (Sunday morning has become the day I do most of my weekend gardening), so I spent an hour picking tomatoes, okra and green peppers, and transplanted the Meyer lemon tree into a bigger pot, and called it good enough. It had cooled down a bit last week (and by “cooled down” what I mean is “become less swelteringly hot”), but the temps are back in the mid to high 90s again. I don’t guess Fall is here just yet.
I really like the kind of okra we’re growing this year – it seems less slimy to me than the kind we grew last year. I don’t know what kind of okra it is, unfortunately, since we bought it at one of those country feed and seed stores, and it was just labeled “okra.” Hopefully it’s not a hybrid, and we can just let it go to seed at the end of the summer, and plant those seeds next summer.
How often is Wisteria supposed to bloom, anyway? I think it’s blooming for the third time this year, and I didn’t think that stuff blooms in the summer. But I’m looking out the window right now, and I see a bunch of it blooming right now.
I have been eating a lot of watermelon lately. We managed to grow some really tasty watermelons this year. Fred has been talking about planting watermelons behind the back yard next summer (in the space between the back yard and the front of the back forty), but I suspect that that’s really the sort of thing we’ll talk about doing right up until it’s time to do it – then we’ll just plant them in the garden again.
Fred’s been trying to get hold of a guy he’d talked to about digging a pond in the back forty for about a year now. He’d call the guy’s number, get a message that his voicemail box was full, and give up for a few weeks or a month, then try it again. And so forth. Finally, on Friday, the guy called him back. Fred talked to him for a little while, the guy said he’d come over and talk to Fred over the weekend and… nada.
“I think you need to just accept that he doesn’t want to do the job,” I said. Fred, having finally hit his “That guy can go fuck himself” limit, is inclined to agree.
Of course, not having a pond doesn’t mean that Fred Anderson doesn’t want ducks. He does. Suddenly, it is ALL he can fucking talk about. Do I care if he gets ducks? I don’t give a fuck. Get a duck. You schmuck.
(Hee.)
Also, he’s talking about possibly-maybe-perhaps getting a smartphone. If he does actually go out and buy himself a smartphone, you better hang onto your ass, because I’m pretty sure that’s a clear sign of the apocalypse. He’s mostly interested in getting a smartphone because he thinks it would be cool to write apps for it. Also, his company pays all their employees a set quarterly sum to cover their cell phone bill, and his cell from 1983 doesn’t stay charged for long.
“Come here Watson, I want you.”
(But mostly, he wants to write apps for it because that’s fun or something.)
If he gets a smartphone and texts me, I’m going to fall over dead.
We finally watched Winter’s Bone Saturday night. It was a damn good movie, and I’m excited about seeing Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss in The Hunger Games. (Also, I feel like I’m seeing Dale Dickey (aka Patty from My Name is Earl) in just about everything lately.)
I love Netflix streaming. I know they’re charging for it now, but we bumped our plan down to 2 discs (instead of 3) and unlimited streaming, and since we watch a lot less TV during the summer, it works out well for us.
Okay. Enough babbling – let’s get to the kitties, shall we?
In case you missed it, I posted an entry on Saturday talking about the Spice Girls going to Petsmart, and Ciara staying (temporarily) here.
There were no adoptions over the weekend, unfortunately. I think that people are so busy with back-to-school activities and getting back into the routine of things, that they’re not adopting cats at the moment. Hopefully adoptions will pick up again soon.
(Pics from last week)
Stressing hard or hardly stressing.
Laundry inspectors on the job.
Friday evening, I went into the guest bedroom to find that Fred had let Jake in to visit with the little ones, and there was this going on:
For the record, Jake didn’t pay ANY attention to those kittens at all. But they were FREAKED.
Note that Jake is all “Oh look, a toy! ::sniff::” and the kittens are all “STRANGER DANGER!!!!!”
I don’t think it’s possible for Lucy to get any more floofed.
While Everett and Sally trade “MY GOD DO YOU SEE WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!” looks, Lucy and Harlan tail the interloper.
“FLOOF, I SAY!”
Practicing for Halloween.
Jake was just trying to partake of some kitten food, and the little ones were SO freaked out and SO “YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE, STRANGER”, that Jake finally gave up and asked to leave the room.
Sunday morning, I was coming downstairs when I heard Fred in the guest bedroom, guffawing. He called to me, and as soon as I opened the door, Jake came running out. It turned out that Fred had let Jake in again, and the kittens all did their insta-floof thing. Then Sally, who was as floofed as possible, was standing there glaring at Jake. Jake sniffed her, and she stood and glared at him. Then Jake tried to rub his head on her and she went stiff and fell over like a fainting goat.
Every time I think of her falling over, even though I didn’t see it myself, it makes me laugh out loud.
Clearly I need to get in there with the little camera and take some videos next time Jake goes visiting!
Regal Tommy.
Previously
2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: I find that the older I get, the more I resent it when I have to spend more than 90 minutes watching a movie.
2007: No entry.
2006: How can you not die from the cute?
2005: So, that’s why I won’t be updating this week.
2004: No entry.
2003: And for the rest of the drive I would occasionally call him “Fo’-Thray”.
2002: Surely they can hear the thunder of Tubby approaching from miles away – you’d think they’d hide somewhere he can’t go, like under the shed or on the other side of the fence.
2001: That’s me, an expert at reading between the lines!
2000: It gives her a rakish air.