It's Our Turn!
For twice-yearly brush and oversized trash pickup, that is.
Yesterday I put out some tree clippings and our old grill.
The BBQ was someone else's gas-type that had been left to rot until all of the burners had rusted to dust. It was given to me and with my brother's welding help I converted it to use charcoal--served us well for many years.
But we decided that it's time for a nice new one--smaller, cleaner, and the kind I want instead of the one I just happened to end up with.
Now, I knew there were wasp nests in it and under it.
In fact, when I rolled it off the patio, the little thump when it dropped an inch off the slab seemed to anger the flying and stinging pricks.
I was soon able to resume my journey around the house, and despite some banging at the fence gate and a few impacts while rolling over exposed roots I got it to the corner of our yard without getting stung.
This is good, because I'm kind of allergic. One Yellow Jacket sting will lay me out for a solid week.
Not 15 minutes later I heard a loud bang/rattle/clank from the front yard and peeked out the window:
The grill was as you see it, in the street, dragged over the curb by a guy who was already running across the neighbor's yard while waving his arms and slapping at his neck and arms and legs!
I couldn't stop watching this dude performing his version of St. Vitus's Dance, twisting and turning, running and slapping, stopping and spinning, crouching and jumping--it was quite the show!
Eventually he made it back to his Suburban, which was parked just to the right of my BBQ with it's back doors open.
After a few false starts and some bonus stings, he finally got in and drove three houses down the street before stopping to close the doors.
By this time I was able to stop laughing and get a camera to shoot a parting shot as he got the hell out of Dodge:
Yes, that's a Winnie The Pooh mailbox flag.
At first I felt guilty for not killing the wasps first, but at the time it just hadn't occurred to me.
Then I got mad because I had to go out there and spray those jerks three times, risking multiple stings and the loss of a productive week or two.
But when I went to get the grill back out of the street it was gone!
Not my problem anymore.
Sylvia said "Serves him right for digging in people's trash".
That was yesterday, this is today:
UPS brought my new bass this afternoon, and I really like it.
Plays good, sounds good, and is very pretty in a dark and smoky way.
The quiled maple is sexy, as is the satin chrome hardware.
It's the 4-string (normal?) version of my decidedly abnormal 8-string, so I feel right at home playing her already.
Thanks for the donations, Sylvia, Selma and Josie!
Is it bad that I've still got the hots for a guitar I saw last Saturday?
It's a steal, so I can always sell it at a profit.
A smart investment, right?