Weeds, weeds, weeds. I tackled the front yesterday and my back reminds me this morning. There's a strange invasive plant in this bed that looks like a good thing gone bad. I probably planted it once, and now it's come back to bite me. This happens when you pile plants on the same little garden patch for 40 years. Nature always has the last word.
It was a beautiful day and in late afternoon some of the neighbors emerged and started chatting like winter (and the pandemic) had never happened. When the weather is bad here, you can go for months without seeing anyone and you start to wonder if people moved away, or something happened. It's like a hibernation, except people emerge in a good mood instead of a hungry one. Well, hungry for social contact. Coming here from California, I've never really gotten used it it.
We're going to a furniture store to look at recliners today. We slump in front of the television downstairs on a reclining loveseat I bought in the early 1990's and it's finally worn out. A metal bar and springs poke into my back putting me in a foul mood no matter what happy thing we're trying to watch.
We have a problem, this is, finding something small enough to get down into the basement through the narrow door and extra tight outdoor stairwell. Why is everything so big these days?
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