 |
Not the tree in question, but
after a few hours it felt that way. |
I spent most of Sunday dealing with a large branch — more of a mini-tree than a branch, actually — that landed on an adjacent tree. The rain and wind were particularly nasty on Saturday night, and this branch landed so it was about eight feet high, parallel to the ground, braced by the two trees like a log bridge you'd find in an Indiana Jones movie or the original
King Kong.
I enlisted my father's help, because I'm so handy that I require a soon-to-be 75-year-old with sooner-to-have open-heart surgery to assist me with simple horticultural tasks. Dad brought over an assortment of tree-cutting weapons, but fortunately my probably-older-than-my-father neighbor whose house is behind my own took pity on us and offered his electric chain saw.
In the process of digging out an extension cord in great haste, I ending up breaking some items of personal value that shouldn't have been in my booby-trapped garage in the first place — a mere hour earlier I was in the garage and thought to myself, "Hey, I'd better move that crap" — and I cut myself on a splinter of glass. And this was BEFORE we even started.
Unfortunately, cutting this log down, then into pieces, took much more time than I'd planned, so I inadvertently screwed up Mrs. The Anthony Show's schedule. She usually does her freelance and school work on Sundays, and she was forced to make sure our kids didn't wander over near falling branches and spritzes of sawdust.
And then, after
that shit...
