Honey Done
This entry has a sound track. Hard core country alert. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QeUUL2WPLeA
Good ol' boy talk about the "Honey Do" is one of the places I set to woofin' like a dog ready for a fight. On a Texas job site, you can expect a daily round of Honey Do updates as surely as you can expect the daily sports review. The Honey Do updates were more about what a man will do to get laid and how successful the latest efforts have been than anything else. One of the fellows I commisurated with through the daily job site ritual moonlighted as "The Honey Do Repair Dude." I sure wish I would have kept that business card. As it is, I don't even remember his name, though I do remember he was an electrician. The commisuration circles which typically formed a safe distance from the daily constructo rap were chock full of compassionate, profound and wise men. They are the voices of pragmatic sanity for what success my career in engineering and construction enjoyed. They are also the quietest voices in The Dumb Broad Show. They donae clamour for attention like the experts, braggarts and armchair quarterbacks. They were just waiting for work to resume. How long it had been since they got laid or won a sporting bet weren't nobody's business but their own.
At home, I was fully intolerant of anything resembling a Honey Do. My gardens were where I was most cruel. Keep your Honey Do off my therapy, Honey. It can suck the joy out of a baby's smile. I damn sure don't want it dripping all over my gardening joys. I chased hubs out of my garden more than once. If you aren't here for your own joys, get ye gone. I'm communing with nature. Getting laid is an entirely different subject. It was one of the places I wish I had learned how to take off my metaphorical steel-toed boots before I reacted within my maternal roles. I still stand by the premise, but I could have presented it more gently.
Hubs was still sick as of yesterday evening. As I checked in on him over the course of the day, I realized I was on another Honey Do tirade. No, he wasnae happy to hear I got a song out of the 2.5 months I've spent at the contractor stonewall. Yup, you guessed it. "Honey Done." Yes, I still want my next text to the contractor to be, "You're fired. Full refund expected. Legal action pending." I have precious little faith that the current failure to communicate means anything other than the well-established pattern of, "I'll get to it when I get to it, Honey." This game is ugly enough when I play it for free. That weren't no free check you cashed back in November, Honey. I'm done.
Last night's restless dreams had a baby stealing theme to them. All the best of the made for TV dramas. My waking thoughts marked the stolen babies as the aeroponics lab/rooftop garden and the river dreams.
Replies
Of course hubby's bee biz (since 2012) weaves heavily into this, but I donae feel equal to the task of figuring out how it weaves in this morning. The weave is as complex and as sticky as the bio-weave between bees and plants. His bee biz has grown quite intense for its short tenure. He continues to earn his real money through high tech, but his bee biz has grown like a force of nature.
It has been a while since I have been stung (a year or two) and knowledge of the beekeepers allergy I acquired during the hive removal from the FIL's investment property remains functionally nonexistent. My allergic reactions to the last bee sting didnae feel anywhere near life-threatening but it weren't fun.
Leaving that sort for another day. . . Maybe. . . It has been popping aggressively in through my private thoughts during this episode. My contributions to the conversation between Hubs and I remains focused on how good he looks doing it. He really does wear it well.
Of course the metaphorical Honey Do has nothing to do with literal bees, but the verbal correlations remain.
it does sound like a "fired text " is past due,
the very least you need is to put out a bit to the trash removal businesses. the first one that can get the trash pile gone wins the check after the site has been raked.
songs are fun (not in the developing stage)
baby steeling is a felony not to be tolerated... at this point the stonewaller is a non-repented felon and should not be trusted for second.
Thanks, Sis. The "You're fired" text feels like the most sensible option available this morning, but for now, I am still stepping small, praying big and letting God lead the dance.
This morning's walk was brisk and invigorating. I am still not ready for a sub-arctic winter, but I am quite pleased with how well I enjoyed the near freezing air. The river region geology still utterly fascinates me. I've never seen it in the winter before.
winter is a great time to see through the trees. I am always fascinated at what hides under the cover of greenery.
It has been a very long time since I have seen a landscape which is not greener in the winter than in the summer. In Central Texas, winter is the active growing season and the dry, blistering summers are the dormant season.
Given the geophysical instability of our childhood, I believe Texas is the only place I've ever lived long enough to have a sense of seasonal continuity. I am tempted to say I have NEVER seen a real winter. Of course the immigrant from Chicago I have been hanging out with here is laughing at me for calling this a real winter.
anyone who has been out in snow over their knees would naturally be laughing to not be there in that moment (presently knee deep moments)...
and yes you do have to dig a path for the doggies, not so much for cats.
other thought that came to my mind was...every spot on earth is equally divided by the four seasons aren't they? not sure! I know some get nick names like "Indian Summer" is a warm fall season around here.
the sub-tropics may only get two climate shifts but do they observe the calendar change from spring to summer?
Nope, not every place has 4 seasons. On the equator, the weather varies more by altitude than season. Even the solstices and equinoxes are tough to comprehend for folks who have lived their entire lives with 12 hour days, 12 hour nights, 12 months a year. Yes, most of the world uses, or is at least aware of the Gregorian calendar and its traditional snow country divisions, and it is convenient to mark the days on a single system, but the seasonal divisions are far from uniform. That is part of the endless fascination to this wandering soul. Mother Nature's talent for diversity seems infinite.