The third attempt is not at taking a nap ... the third attempt is for posting about naps. Sigh.
::waving both hands in a shooing motion:: Regardless.
I, Fantastic Fabiola, long wondered what in the world people ever so slightly older than Fabiola could be thinking when they spoke all misty eyed about taking an afternoon nap. Fabiola now knows. It is kind of like magic, one year afternoons are for completing tasks, the next afternoons are for fighting off the impulse to just lay down on a nice soft bed (couch, floor, shady spot under a tree) and take a little nappers. Not being the kind of gal that just gives in to the forces of nature (have you seen Fabiola's hair? Fabiola has to tell you that nature abhors upright hair more than it does a vaccuum, it is a known fact.) where was Fabiola? Oh. Midsentence. Can't be helped. Fabiola has not given in to the lure of afternoon naps. She believes that God invented Red Bull or coffee for just that situation. Sugar free Red Bull darlings, a gal Fabiola's age can't spare the calories.
That is all for the moment.
Almost Storm Clouds
Fabiola wanted to include a video (she took one don'tchaknow?) but the connection is snail like tonight, so maybe tomorrow.
Back to school
Where Did The Unbelievably Long String of Bailing Twine Come From?
It wasn't there on Friday when Mary parked the floater in the field ready for putting down lime starting at the crack on Monday. Somehow, somtime over the weekend, what had to be almost an entire reel of happy pink and white shiny nylon or poly twine ended up starting way down the country road, running past the field back and forth across the road several times, took a sharp 90 at the stop sign and continued most of the way down the crossroad to the first, maybe the second barn. Maybe the second because it doubled back on itself in front of the first barn and spent some distance wandering in and out of the ditch full of queen anne's lace and clammy ground cherry. Not that I followed it. I was stuck with Mary and she was working in that one field and not inclined to leave to follow anything even if it was shiny and half bubble gum colored. Passers by mentioned it, that string was inconvienently long.
Every time a car passed over it it would jump and change location on the road and Mary wondered all day Monday when it was going to wrap itself around someone's car axle and go zinging behind as it wound itself tighter and tighter until the twine broke or the car did because sooner or later that twine was going to mess with something. That twine was going to cause a problem for someone, unless someone did something. Something like picking it up. But it started way down the road, went round the corner and almost to the next. Mary was stuck in that one spot.
Mary fretted all day about it. Country rule number one: if it isn't yours and you didn't put it there don't mess with it unless you ask first. That twine mighta been there for a reason. But it was nylon or poly and it was amazingly long and because it was if no one ever moved it, it would be there forever waiting for an animal or axle or mower blade to get all wrapped up in it. Mary fretted.
Where did the amazing, extra long string of bailing twine come from? No one seemed to know. No one being the farmer that owned the field that it surrounded and then some (because Mary asked him, ya never know if something like that was there for some purpose). So it was kids messing around, bailing twine that was just dead set on a life of adventure instead of securing round bales of hay so it attempted a leap from the back of a hay baler, grabbed a hold of a tough weed and unrolled itself as the baler traveled, or it was left there by aliens maybe as some sort of place marker. Doesn't matter, it was there.
Tuesday, how long was it really? Could a person pull all that slippery twine from where ever it was to one spot? Let's find out I, Fantastic Fabiola, urged. Mary would have ignored me, but that nylon or poly was never going to decompose. Never. So in the four minutes that it took for the floater to load, we started pulling and wrapping. Out into the field to unload, back, hook up the hose, start the pump, pull and wrap. Repeat every other four minutes all day. Swear.
Ten thousand feet, almost, was how long that string of twine was, the better part of two miles. It made a dandy bubble gum pink and white and weed ball.
Why Was I Plopped At The Bottom Of A Hole ...
Why, oh why was Fantastic Fabiola plopped at the bottom of a hole in a field instead of gracefully perching on her ottoman chatting about bailing twine? In farm world, tile blow-outs trump bailing twine stories. Hard to believe, I know, but true.
Of course you know this, about 3 or 4 feet under many fields, farmers or drainage contractors have placed (depending on when it was done, oldest to newest darlings) fired clay, concrete, or plastic field tile. <-wonderful wikipedia talks about field tile in detail. In short, lowering the water table in wetish fields keeps plants from being lazy. Corn and beans and wheat that don't have to bother growing roots spend all their time sitting around watching reruns of Green Acres on the Tee-Vee.
Where was I? Plopped at the bottom of a hole, yes. Sigh. Yesterday while gracefully walking through that field, watching for summer wildflowers, instead Fantastic Fabiola spotted a monster hole. Damn. (Not that Fantastic Fabiola ever curses.) A section of a twenty-four inch diameter clay tile had clearly had enough and had caved in during the last heavy rain. Now, one of the things with tile blow-outs is that they always get bigger, so they have to be fixed. In order to fix them the old bits of broken tile and excess dirt have to come out of the hole, dirt surrounding either end of the good sections (still in the ground) has to be removed so that a new piece of lovely plastic field tile with sleeves attached can be fitted over either end. A backhoe can do most of the work but the removing dirt from around the ends of good tile has to be done by hand. Well, shovel or in Fantastic Fabiola's case a sturdy concrete trowell. That activity requires that someone jump into the hole, so why Mary was digging, Fabiola took photos from an interesting vantage point. The tile got fixed, Fantastic Fabiola got some lovely photos from a fairly unique vantage point, and Mary got dirty. One good, one wonderful, one typical -- oh don't worry about Mary, she doesn't particularly like getting all filthy, but she is washable, so it is all good.
Fantastic Fabiola promises that she will talk about bailing twine later today. I, Fantastic Fabiola, know that you can hardly wait.
Tuesday and The Giant Twine Ball
Tuseday was a fairly interesting day in Fantastic Fabiola world. Interesting for lately anyway, Tuesday was all about bailing twine. Well, work and bailing twine. Mary and I spent almost every other four minutes all day pulling in and then not so neatly rolling bubblegum pink and white nylon or poly bailing twine into a basketball sized ball . Why?
The why later darlings.
A Dress the Color Of A Summer Sky ...
Photo taken while Mary was working last week. I, Fantastic Fabiola pointed out many great skys to snap, but this one Mary spotted all by herself. Even Fantastic Fabiola was surprized when all Mary said about this photo was that she wanted a dress the color of this summer sky. Why she said that, Fabiola does not know, usually Mary is too busy greasing something to be creative. Go figure.
Fantastic Fabiola Has Not Abandoned You ...
Sigh -- that crabby old Mary has been dragging Fantastic Fabiola here and there and to places that are all dust and drudgery and while at the end of the day; the Fantastic Fabiola is willing the Mary is too much of a poop to write anything.
There! Fantastic Fabiola said it (not that Fantastic Fabiola ever says such things), Mary can be a real poop.
Fabiola is working on a few things today though ... now if only I, Fantastic Fabiola can get Mary to put down the grease gun and take a nap.
There! Fantastic Fabiola said it (not that Fantastic Fabiola ever says such things), Mary can be a real poop.
Fabiola is working on a few things today though ... now if only I, Fantastic Fabiola can get Mary to put down the grease gun and take a nap.
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