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Poke yer partner and docey doe.

It’s been a bit of a hiatus for me here, not really by choice but simply by other duties, like Call of Duty, taking priority over writing my blog.  My presence has been made known here, evidenced by commenting on blogs.

Excuse me for a moment while I go remind my 14 year old son that our living room is not a golf driving range.  Again.  The dang kid is up early (for a teenager) so my morning revelry was interrupted as he clomped down the stairs and proceeded to chip a tennis ball into a picture on the living room wall.

What mayest thou be doing home during the middle of a work week, thou mightst be asking?  Last weekend was the annual get together for my side of the family, a trip always arranged by my mother so that my brothers and I can get the rare chance to see each other.  This year’s get together was at the beach in South Haven, Michigan, a short drive from the Chicago area.  I forgot that I took this entire week for vacation, in anticipation that my family would continue with our vacation after the weekend get together.

Miriam appears to have a death wish for our sister in law.  WATCH OUT MELISSA, THE SHOVEL IS ABOUT TO COME DOWN!!

Miriam appears to have a death wish for our sister in law. WATCH OUT MELISSA, THE SHOVEL IS ABOUT TO COME DOWN!!

That did not materialize.  My daughter is entering  her senior year of high school and is also the drum major for her school’s marching band.  She can not and does not want to miss anything.  This week is the second week of marching band rehearsal to prepare for the school year.  No extended vacation for us.  So here I sit, not a bad thing at all, trying to decide what to do with all of this free time.

Monday I sat and did virtually nothing all day.  I dropped Nate off in the morning for a golf tournament, coached him a little as he warmed up on the driving range, watched him tee off on the first hole and headed home after he hit his second shot.  It was nice to watch.  The kid has a nice tee shot that takes off on a straight rise, not a pop up, with good distance and accuracy.  Not only that, but he asked me to stick around to watch his first tee shot, which was nice to hear, much nicer than hearing a tennis ball carom off of the living room wall.

Yesterday I managed to whack my shin with one of my crappy eggbeater bike pedals, a result of one pedal staying engaged to the cleat on my left foot as the right side slipped violently out, causing the left to push the pedal out and into my shin.  There is a cool looking goose egg there now and it should produce an awesome bruise.  Oddly enough, I was too upset with the terrible performance of the Eggbeater pedals to pay much notice to the injury.

Like I said, these pedals are called eggbeaters because, well, THEY LOOK LIKE AN EGGBEATER!

Like I said, these pedals are called eggbeaters because, well, THEY LOOK LIKE AN EGGBEATER!

I hate those pedals.  After buying them a few weeks ago, I was a bit concerned about the lack of ease clipping in to the pedals.  I am used to clipless pedals, so getting used to them should have been a short learning curve.  They still don’t work right.  I have emailed Performance Bicycle, where I bought them, and gave them my opinion of the pedals.  There has been no response as of yet.  When I got their automatic email asking me to give a review of the pedals, I gave a rating of poor and a title of the review called “Beware”.  It was published and is the first review of the pedals.

Now it’s time to put on my yard work clothes, grab a shovel, grab a ho(e), and get some work done out in the yard.  My wife was out front last night at midnight, pulling the grass along the sidewalk.  Sometimes I just plain don’t understand that woman.

“Why are you doing that?  You do know I am going to borrow our neighbor’s edger tomorrow when I mow the lawn, don’t you?  We talked about that.”

She has been frustrated all summer about our yard.  After some 20 years of showing absolutely no interest at all, her attention has suddenly turned outdoors.  I suspect it’s largely due to the influence of our Gladys Kravits-esque next door neighbor, a know-it-all who has no qualms about telling you what she thinks.  She and her husband ignored their lawn for years until he retired.  Suddenly she is a lawn care expert.  My overly anxious wife listens to her and is very worried about what she thinks, enough that Mir goes out to do useless yardwork at midnight.  It’s frustrating for me.  The yard is my territory, always has been, and I do an excellent job.  It’s no fun having a worried newbie poking their nose into my business and screwing up what I have worked hard to produce!

So out I go into the sunlit green expanse of my lawn.  Something tells me the hoe is going to be out there with me.  It may take a hoe to get her to listen to me…..

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