death star droid harmonica
This afternoon’s post is random but not as random as it seems. Two nights ago I was perusing some images in my catalog from last summer when I scrolled too fast upward on the aggravatingly-touchy computer mouse wheel thingy with my big-guy handfinger which was tired out from cleaning the remains of a dead rat in the basement. Ratty discovered a shoebox-sized hole through our foundation that was sneakily accessed via the underneath of the front porch, which is currently under a procrastinated renovation of sorts featuring an improvised bottom step that only now do I realize has been doubling as a revolving glass door for vermin who are flexible enough to squeeze their lumpy bodies through the gap where the step meets earth. Unfortunate for Ratty about the matter of a certain rat-trap placed circa 2008 in the shoebox-sized hole (the trap unretrieved these past seven years, so terrified was I about unspringing the dang thing with some part of my body) and a lump of moldy peanut butter was his last meal. He didn’t get caught proper in the trap but evidently took a real clout to the head (there was blood) and lay in eerie repose under the workbench next to a tube of unopened bathroom shower-and-tile caulk. Rat-like, I scrounged plywood from the junkpile in the backyard and went crazy with the orbital saw and cut about 63 pieces into various geometric fashion before achieving a suitable match for the rat hole and went about securing my handiwork with nine crooked, bent nails. It was a slow process because I had to run upstairs to the foyer between the pounding of each nail to ensure I wasn’t pounding nails up through the floor because our house is over a hundred years old and I’m a sad sack when it comes to basic carpentry such as battening down the hatches. On top of that, my faculties were compromised from fogged-up safety glasses and bleach fumes (each speck of dirt on the floor in that area of the basement that so much as remotely resembled a rat turd, received a few squirts and plenty overspray of germ-killing chemical action).
But as I was saying just a moment ago regarding that computer mouse mishap resulting from impaired fine motor function: Lightroom went into warp drive and I landed in the middle of a bunch of stuff I shot from a concert my sister and her husband held in their backyard a year ago last summer, in Lake Michigan Country.
These days I’m not as eager to admit I’m a closet Star Wars nerd (trilogy-only) because to the extent the franchise hasn’t gone to pot even more than it went to pot twenty some years ago, it has really gone to the pop culture reference-meme toilet. But sometimes it’s just funny as heck when you’re wandering around barefoot in the prickly grass before the band gets to playing and you stumble upon a repurposed Darth Vader carrying case.
Good news: The Seattle School District teacher’s strike is over and Adam headed to second grade, this morning. He was a lot more excited about the bus ride than actually being at school, but I’m not worried about him too much. I took it as a good sign that he chose the seat directly behind the bus driver but part of me hopes he’ll head to the very back from time to time because that’s where the ride is bounciest and most enjoyable!