Hey, remember Nancy, our tree-hating neighbor from the old apartment complex? We ran into her at the farmers market on Saturday morning.
She legit had no idea who we were.
We finally kinda, sorta jogged her memory. I think? She went so far as to acknowledge that yes, there had been a vacancy in Apt. 4 recently after another couple (us, Nancy! It was us!!) moved out. And then she asked where we’d moved to, even though Tara had multiple conversations with her about the house we had bought and even showed her pictures.
She said she hates being 81 years old because her brain no longer works as well as it once did, and then said, “Like this place I’m at right now. I know what it is, but I can’t find the words.”
“A farmers market,” I said.
“See, as soon as I hear the words, I remember,” she replied, her eyes lighting up with recognition. Poor woman. I guess this explains how a potato masher morphs into a garden trowel.
(Found the elusive potato masher, by the way.)
I find the whole thing incredibly sad and really hope I avoid a similar fate. Dementia does run in the family — my grandmother had it — so I’m hoping I get hit by a bus or something before I no longer remember what a “bus” is.
By the way, why is it that people always equate a quick and unexpected death with getting hit by a bus? Why not a train, or a wood-paneled station wagon with fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror, or hell, a horse and buggy? Surely the Amish die quick and unexpected deaths, too.
Why does this deadly run-in even have to involve wheels? You never hear anyone say, “I’ll have that project back to you tomorrow morning, Bob. Unless I get bitten by an Inland Taipan on my way home tonight.”
An Inland Taipan is the world’s most venomous snake.
New goal: say this to somebody at work. Ooh, maybe Daryl. He’d appreciate that.
In my last post, I talked about buying a John Deere and turning into somebody I no longer recognize. Over the weekend, I took it one step farther by using a chainsaw for the first time.
During that same snowstorm in which I lost my phone for 10 minutes, the heavy wet snow caused a large branch on one of our trees to snap at the base of the trunk. It was still attached, and in fact still blooming, but there was no salvaging it and it was just too big to try to tackle with a handsaw. We figured, with such a big yard and a reputation for snowy winters and tornadoes and whatnot, a chainsaw would come in handy from time to time, so we went out and bought one.
I tell you, using that thing made me feel pretty manly. I flexed my muscles. I posed like Leatherface from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I grunted like Tim “The Tool Man” Taylor. I felt downright virile.
Tara felt downright embarrassed, as the neighbor across the way was in his driveway and surely heard me carrying on as though I’d never used a chainsaw before.
Probably because I’d never used a chainsaw before. Let me have my moment, damn it!
The chainsaw made quick work of the branch, and the rest of the weekend was spent on additional house projects. I cleaned and organized the garage, which had been a receptacle for boxes of stuff since Day One. Tara up-potted because she didn’t want her starts to get too leggy.
(Her words. I still have no idea what any of that means.)
And the weather was gorgeous. You know how realtors sometimes use the phrase “park-like setting” when marketing a house? That’s very true of our yard this time of year.
Hope y’all had as enthusiastic and productive a weekend as I did. Oh, and watch out for deadly snakes on the way home.
Mark My Words 
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