I’ve been slacking for a while. I haven’t cut my lawn in weeks. Lots of baseball and bullets, but not a lot of sweat equity. This will be one of those payment-due weekends where I look forward to Monday so I can just sit in a chair for a while.

We’ve got a drippy shower fixture that needs fresh gaskets. The fixture is a no-name one-off we got from the Habitat for Humanity resale shop. The simple act of changing out the gaskets requires me to shut off water for the house, pull the core from the shower diverter, and drive it to a plumbing supply warehouse to sight-match the O-rings. Always a fun time.

If it stops raining long enough for the yard to dry out, I’m definitely going to have to tackle the grass, probably bagging as I go. My dad was a bagger. Or rather, my dad made us kids bag his grass clippings. He also made us mow the yard never using more than half the mower blade. “Keep the grass line between the O and the R,” he said, pointing to the TORO letters stamped on the front lip of the mower. This, in effect, doubled the time and effort we kids exerted to mow the yard. In the clarity of adult retrospective, this was nine kinds of bullshit.

Now that I think about it, I can dispense with the WE part of WE kids. My brother mowed the family yard for three years. I mowed it for nine. Plus grandma’s yard. Plus the old widow lady neighbor. I mowed a lot of fucking grass, and I always bagged the clippings because dad insisted that I bag the clippings. If I spilled cut grass onto the grass while transferring clippings from the mower bag to the trash bag, I’d hear about it. Fast forward to three years ago, one brutal July day when I muttered, “Fuck it” and left the catch bag off. At the ripe old age of 43, I finally allowed myself to mulch. Less mess and a faster mow. When I was done mowing I looked at the yard and it looked fine with its tiny spritzing of mulched grass. The world did not end. Now I only bag the leafy gunk grass in the fall. It’s that time.

I’m supposed to have an IDPA pistol tournament, but I’m not sure if I’ve got enough time to give up five prime Saturday hours.

I bought the missus a new couch and loveseat for the family room for our anniversary. Our current furniture is oversized. I need to get the current oversized furniture loaded in the truck via the assistance of my undersized wife, and cart it to Goodwill. Then perhaps a couple of trips to get the new furniture home. The new couches are “normal” in size, so we shouldn’t have any trouble loading it in.

Speaking of oversized, I’ve got an ancient fluorescent light fixture cluttering my work table that is six inches wide and twelve feet long. I have to limbo the damn thing to get to the laundry room. At some point I have to halve it with a hack saw so I can fit the effer in a trash can. The monstrosity dates back to the sixties and the stamped steel will not give itself up to the saw easily. It’s going to be a sweat.

This weekend is going to be a sweat.

I hope you find time for the important things, and a Happy Weekend to you all.