Interseasonal Sunday

Summer is over, with cool days and cooler nights hinting at a coming frost. The hydrangea is among the fabled 5% that does not get the word, still flowering defiantly even as oak and maple leaves — not changing color yet — have begin to fall. We’ll have to cut the hydrangea back rather a lot, as it’s overrun the irises and occupied a large section of patio by force. But one is loath to trim a bush still flowering.

The only trees starting to turn color are the birches and alders, which are as prolific as weeds in the back forest. Soon we will be bagging leaves for twice-weekly trips to the transfer station. If we have a normal winter we’re three months from snow; if we have one like last year, in six weeks we’ll be covered until April. Roll on Global Warming; one almost wishes that Professor Michael “Piltdown” Mann, the Jerry Sandusky of climate science, was correct in his apocalyptic ¬†predictions. Too bad about Venice, but we could use a milder winter and longer growing season.

Today has been a day of troubleshooting, with Kid’s new airsoft gun acting up (think we can see what the problem is, but this is what warranties are for). Kid’s old Macbook acting up, not booting. Egads, we’re just one PS3 failure away from being neck-deep in bored teens. Better fix the laptop forthwith.

2 thoughts on “Interseasonal Sunday

  1. David W.

    Just do what my dad did. If I ever said I was bored he pointed to a chainsaw and told me to clear the back lot, stack the trees in piles, and then dig out the roots, or I could go read a book.

    I read a lot of books growing up.

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