What is there to say? I'm not very interesting. I'm not a good writer. I don't even dress well. If you insist on knowing something about me just wander through the archives. It's all there.

Saturday, June 11, 2005

On a sore back

I am re-scaping the land in my yard. Part of that process has involved moving several cubic yards of dirt from my front yard to my backyard with a wheelbarrow. I had a friend once who thought that a cubic yard had nine cubic feet in it rather than twenty-seven cubic feet. When he ordered mulch to be delivered to his driveway, he carefully calculated his needs and then added an extra yard or two for good measure. He ordered twenty-four cubic yards of mulch. He was shocked when two large trucks dumped a literal mountain on mulch on his driveway. He put it a foot thick everywhere on his flowerbeds and in huge mounds around his trees. He put it everyplace that he could think of and then ended up begging the neighbors to come and cart most of it away.

I know how many cubic feet are in a cubic yard. My back holds mute testament to how many cubic feet are in a cubic yard. As is my way, I overdid it. I can’t help it. I am old enough to know better, but it is my nature to dive head first into any task. Pacing myself seems sort of wimpy. “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.”

So, tonight I have a very, very sore back. It hurts to sit. It hurts to stand. Lying down might be an option, if I were content to never rise again.


Post a Comment

<< Home