plugging along

It’s blustery here today as we await some more rain. Jude is nearby making some more of her granola mix, singing along with our classic rock satellite channel as the dogs wander into my office periodically for treats. Summer seems to finally be here, even though we built a chill-chaser in the woodstove a week ago. With our outdoor projects on hold, we’re going to set up an indoor outhouse to take the load off, so to speak, our aging septic field. The byproducts of The Good Life we so enjoy will now go into the compost bins.

With our new energy system pumping out way more amps than we can use, we’re ditching our gas-powered weed whackers and log splitter for electric models. I was skeptical about how much clout the batteries on the whackers could supply, but I can get 30 minutes or so from one. And the splitter splits with a vengeance. It does have to be near an outlet, but we’re adjusting.

More time outside means less time in front of the telly or on the computer, but that’s for the best. Watching Trump less accentuates his relentless pursuit of dementia. The debate could be a debacle for him. When his most devoted disciple, Marje Greene, compares him to Jesus, you know the end is nigh.