attacking the mundane

Today much that is unexciting requires my attention.

Tomato tripods did not work, though the chickens seemed bemused by my cutting of sticks and attempts to set them up. The plants were just too big and would have to be so squashed inside the supports that I feared for their health. So, on advice from Serendipity, I resorted to crutches. Multiple strategically placed crutches now support the plants and they are off the ground now.

The long weekend involved much in the plant removal category, using various highly powered weapons of mass cutting. The tractor mower took care of the growth at the sides of the driveway, several chainsaws took care of saplings and grapevines in the ditches along the driveway, and the gas-powered weed whacker made it possible to see fenceposts again. It also included much in the good food category, with meals shared by B&E and D&J.

Monday was an estate auction at which we got a few nice little antiques: a washtub, several pieces of old enamelware, which I love, a tinware pitcher that is just asking for wildflowers, a flannel blanket with the instruction tag still attached ("wash in sudsy water for 2 minutes; do not twist but run lengthwise through wringer"), and a box that once held explosives but came at the auction with many hardware odds & ends. Aside from the bidding I was fascinated with the items for sale. The farm had apparently been in the same family since the 1840s and it was like walking through an exhibit on the history of farming. Scythes and grain cradles were followed by wheeled cultivators with a seat for riding behind the team, a sleigh still with its original paint, plows, two-man saws, grain separators, harrows, wooden wagon wheels. I'm glad we went.

Today, said blankets are being washed, there are financial slips to enter into the computer, the office and the girls' rooms need a tidy, the cucumbers in the garden need to be made into pickles, and the lawn by the pool needs mowing if the rain holds off. The mundane is there and must be attacked. The problem with the mundane is it never gets tired of waiting to be attacked and wanders away. It is patient and will hold out longer than I can.

Nothing for it, then. To misquote Shakespeare yet again, "once more into the breach, dear friends!" Hm, I think I got the quote right, just not really in context. Henry at Agincourt was hardly mundane.

And with that obscure reference, I am off.