THE GARDEN, OH THE GARDEN
I spent most of the weekend
- finishing the shoveling of dirt into garden boxes
- digging in a ring around a maple tree
- sticking bricks in the tree ring
- shoveling dirt into the tree ring
- staring perplexedly at the absolutely wild amount of dirt remaining
- shoveling dirt into a wheelbarrow, and
- doing some impromptu landscape design.
A. pitched in and shoveled and wheelbarrowed while I had a few breaks. My wrists ached all last night, but I think that was actually due to unwise box-lifting in the archive stacks. It did get me thinking about all the maintenance the body needs to function well. Gonna shovel some dirt? You better stretch, fool. Gonna lift that cubic-foot records box off the top shelf? You better do some gentle wrist p.t. or by the gods, the carpal tunnel surgeons will have their way with you in ten years. (Probably sooner than that, says my keyboard.) And all that reminded me of the training you can get, if your school growing up is so inclined, through sports and P.E., to warm up, cool down, stretch, shower, etc. I have lost all my track-and-field lessons.
Also, I am old. Carry on.
BINGE THIS YOU BINGLEBRAGGART WITH AN E
I have a Netflix confession. I am not a binger. I’m surprised that we are still calling it bingeing, since it seems to be taking over as the new normal way people watch miniseries or tv shows. But then, Internet/Facebook echo chamber language is not necessarily Everyone Everywhere language.
That’s not to say I have never binged. Back in the pre-Netflix days (or rather, the We Didn’t Know Anyone With Netflix and Were Too Cheap To Get Our Own Subscription Days) we borrowed lots of stuff from our local libraries. Most of the Ninth and Tenth Doctors’ series of Doctor Who, most of Breaking Bad, some Curb Your Enthusiasm that A. was on the fence about buying, you get it. We binged the crap out of that stuff, but we also had some constraints:
- Time. Due dates!
- Time. Doctoral student!
And of course, we wanted to watch it all right then anyway. It is tempting, when it’s all there on Netflix, just waiting for me to watch it, to just let one episode roll into the next. But then I remember, it’s all there, just waiting. And if I do let things roll, I tend to get antsy, think about what else I could or should be doing instead of enjoying episodes 2, 3, 4, 5, onward. This could be the kick-in of parenting brain, rather than any hoity-toity anti-bingey thought process. Or just normal bad attention span. In any case, I still technically binge-watch stuff, but it’s a slow binge of one episode per evening.
(Still old, still carrying on.)