Stomping trash means climbing up on a ladder and stepping on top of the trash bags in the bin.(First place and opened pizza box across the top.) That climbing part puts you closer to the sun and there you go, melting away. One of our trash bins has lost a wheel and so I must call and ask for a new one. I noticed it last week, but forgot to call then, so someone – not me – will find themselves fighting the bin down the driveway.
Amazingly, I did not come in the house when I saw the missing wheel and shout, “Hey, the wheel’s missing from a trash bin!” No one knows I had all that time to call. No one except Rose and, of course, she’s too nice to tell. This reminds me of the time I forgot to mention that if the motor scooter dies, you should always check to make certain the spark plug hasn’t vibrated loose. I seem to hold up well to some bits of guilt.
Anyway, yesterday it was 96 and I didn’t feel this hot. Today, at 90, I do; perhaps it is because I am older.
We are in a drought, moderate as of today, but tomorrow the weatherman says it will move up a step in severity. My grass is brown – but buckhorns are dependable to grow no matter what and that is what they have done. I’m not mowing them.
I am going to sit right here and drink iced tea.
Oh, by the way, I have a high calcium level which led to a test of my parathyroid hormone. It is 140 and should be 70. Usually this indicates a benign tumor on the gland, requiring surgery. Der Bingle asked, “So . . . you are going to pay someone to slit your throat?” Say, this seems to link back to the grisly Amazon booklist mentioned right below. Maybe it’s a paranormal event. Hmmmm, wonder what my paranormal hormone level is.