Well, they aren’t really old ladies; they are younger than I for the most part. They live in close proximity to Quentin and he helps with taking their trash out and other things . . . and at Christmas they give him cookies. That is how I heard about them. His wife mentioned the older women in the neighborhood, and in my mind I immediately thought of the little old ladies in “The Producers” – one of my favorite movies. The original, the one with Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder.

Well, of course, I was saying “little old ladies” and his wife was nicely trying to steer me to the realizaion that they really weren’t, there were mother-aged older ladies. That doesn’t amuse me; little old ladies amuses me. And, because I want to, I am sticking to it.

But, anyway, this is the point of it now: Quentin has weeds spreading in his yard, especially in one corner. A lot of weeds . . . and he called me to ask about just putting rock salt down. I don’t know, but that sounds odd if you want anything else to grow. Besides rock salt kills grass; I don’t know that it kills cockroach-strength weeds.

We (he and I) once put everything killer along the fence line, but we didn’t realize our nozzle was leaking and in a few days we could follow every path we had taken as we went to different places to spray. It wasn’t good, and in the grand scheme of things, it was not particularly bad . . . but it was impressive.

I realized right then that anyone doing anything nefarious ought not to carry weed/grass killer. But that doesn’t partain to this; it is more in line with my fantasy criminal and wartime partisan activities.

Quentin still has his weeds, and since I, too, have this problem, I said I would research it. The next day, a busy one  – the day after the Summer birthday, I was mowing the yard (lawns do not have weeds) and suddenly thought, “Quentin’s little old ladies: I bet they know something about grass and weeds and gardening.”

I was ichatting (video and typing) with Bing’s Georgia buddy when Quentin called him . . . so he put the Q on speaker and I could listen in. Technically, Quentin could hear me also if I spoke really loudly . . . but then so could anyone else. So I typed my little old lady idea to the fellow in Georgia  who passed it on vocally to Quentin. But, I forgot, Quentin is the type who doesn’t want to be a bother and he won’t ask them . . . never mind that they would get such a kick out of helping him. Maybe he is afraid that this quid pro quo might jeopardize his Christmas cookie haul.

Anyway, that is my project – to find out about weed control and grass regrowth before he pours the rock salt. After all, he himself admitted the idea of a rock garden in the back yard did not go over well.