STOMP, STOMP, STOMP - Part 2

Ok, so now you have a bit of history as to why I get a bit alarmed when a piece of equipment is started up outside.  Whether my husband is mowing, weed whacking or getting out the heavy shears...something is going to happen.  He also has no regard to open windows while mowing.  By the time I realize he is mowing, dust has blown through at least one entire side of the house.  It is a virtual dust storm outside and now in my house.  I've tried and tried to get him to understand the mess it all makes but again he is the honey badger.

The asparagus patch is about 10 feet by 20 feet and is right in the middle of the yard.  You can't miss it.   We have owned this little slice of heaven since 1993 and over the years my husband has gotten closer and closer and closer to the patch while mowing.  This particular spring day I come out of the bathroom to the sounds of mowing and think "Oh, he's mowing.  That's good.  It will keep him busy for about 2 hours.".  While I hum a little song in my head, the alarm goes off...oh crap he's mowing run for the windows.  Too late!!!  Dust is everywhere in the kitchen, dining area and laundry room.  Nice.  As I rush to close the windows, although why I do this I do not know because the dust is already on everything, I notice him on the John Deere tractor mowing dangerously close to the asparagus patch.  I had just harvested the 1st crop a few days ago and was anxiously waiting for the second crop.

I wait until he is well away from the asparagus because I can't always count on him seeing me.  He stays more focused than me.  I am the perfect example of "I think I have adult ADD....oh look a chicken, or a shiny, or whatever.  When the coast is clear I casually walk over to the asparagus to discover to my horror that it has finally happened!  My husband has mowed a 3 foot strip of asparagus.  I am wondering "Does he have no clue or is he going to wait until I discover it to fess up?".  I STOMP, STOMP, STOMP over to my husband and wave him down.  His face tells exactly what he doesn't want to admit he is thinking "What can be so important that you had to interrupt me?".  As calmly and slowly as I can muster (hey no spell check on that word) I say "Honey, you just mowed over a large patch of asparagus.".  He says and not so calmly I might add "I DID NOT!  I wouldn't do that!  It spreads you know!!  Don't you think I would know if I ran over the asparagus?". (Apparently not dear!) He is not calm because he has had to stop the mower to hear me.  I'm thinking to myself "Why would I make this up? Does he think I'm lying?  Why would I make this up?".  What I say is "Come on, let's take a look.", because it makes no sense to argue about it right now.

So, we both STOMP, STOMP, STOMP over to the patch and the evidence is right there!!  There sure is nothing like being told you are wrong when your are absolutely sure you are right and the evidence is staring you both in the face.  I say "Look!".  He says "Oh." and walks away to continue mowing.  I'm just standing there very puzzled.  I then spend the next few minutes gathering up tonight's side dish from the lawn.  (It was lightly brushed with rosemary olive oil, grilled and very tasty.)  Beautiful, perfect stalks of asparagus are have been thrown everywhere.  It would have been kinda funny it I wasn't so darn mad. More stomping as a look around the yard for anything mark the obvious.  The asparagus patch is now adorned with every tall lawn ornament I own.  To which my husband says "So, ya marked it huh?".

Stomp, stomp, stomp

A few weeks ago there was an asparagus incident involving my loving husband.  I've had a request for the story so here goes.

The asparagus patch is the holy grail around here and the source of many awesome meals from breakfast all the way to dinner.  It came with the place and is the envy of most visitors.  It takes years to get a small harvest and about a decade for a true crop.  I had nothing do with it but it is one of my pride and joys.  My husband would like nothing better than to mow it down the second it is done producing.   I love how the morning dew gathers on the feathery branches and how the first frost of the fall sparkles in the morning sunshine not to mention how beautiful it looks before and after a snowstorm.  For me it is breathtaking.  According to him "It looks like hell".  He will mow and whack anything I let him near or don't let him near for that matter.  He actually just whacks at things when I'm gone risking my wrath when I return... it's doesn't stop him.  He tries to weed the flower garden.  You wonder why I have a problem with that?  Why I tend to sound soooo ungrateful because I have a husband that actually helps with the flower beds?  Well, the only time I agreed to him weeding the perennial bed I regretted it so much.  What was I thinking?  The man doesn't know a daisy seedling from a milk weed and could care less.  Let's just say it's taken over 4 years to replant the perennial bed and to have it return to it's pre-husband weeding attack glory.  Most of the time he means well but some of the time he's just like the honey badger...he doesn't give a shit.

That JERK!!! (and I don't mean my husband)

I've been thinking about blogging and a few people have suggested it.  I wasn't sure.  I guess I was waiting for a sign.  This morning my sign came in the form of my husband.  Stomp, stomp, stomp down the hall to the bedroom at 5:30 am informing me "YOU locked a raccoon in the garage last night and he tore up the garage!!  He even tore off the door frame!!!".  Stomp, stomp, stomp.  I'm thinking to myself:  "Is the raccoon out and if he is what difference will it make if I work on the mess at 5:30 am or 7:30 am?  Go away UGH!!!".  Does he think I went out there and said "Hello are there any raccoons in here?  Oh there are 2 of you?  Good deal!!! Please spend the night cuz I like nothing better than almost puking over the smell of your poop at 5:30 am.  See you in the morning!"."  I have no choice but to drag my butt out of bed and check on the damage knowing full well that my husband tends to...well...exaggerate (I had to look this up because I had no clue how to spell it. Exaggerate is one weird looking word) about these things.  And just for the record, I am not, in any sense of the imagination, never have been, never will be a morning person!!!

So I stomp, stomp, stomp to the garage and sure enough there is a mess, not a "torn the garage to hell mess" but a mess complete with poop and pee.  I of course I'm just am not sure it's poop so I...oh crap I need shoes...go investigate and I'll tell you raccoon poop will send you gagging at any time of day.  As for why this stupid jerk of a raccoon just had to pee on the plastic storage bucket is beyond me.

We decide to leave the poop until it dries a bit.  It's just easier that way and don't ask how I know this please.  My husband turns to leave for work and we hear some movement coming from somewhere in the garage.  Is it Gracie our outside cat?  (Please don't judge me.  She is a working girl and wants nothing to do with coming in the house unless there is cheese involved.  Gracie prefers the coolness of the swamp on the hot summer days to the air conditioning of the house.)  We can't figure out what is moving so my husband leaves for the day.  Thanks honey.  I'll just stand here in my night gown and take care of it.  Not to worry.

I decide I need to start some coffee and get dressed.  Whatever is out there won't come out with me standing there.  15 minutes later I hear some rumbling out there and see a second raccoon climbing up the red folding chairs and dangling to reach the shelves. I guess the 1st raccoon left when my husband opened the garage door.  I wait to see if he is going to change his mind and get the heck outta my garage but no...he climbs right up to the top shelf and parks himself on top of the cage I use to transport our cats to the vet and curls up in a ball to take a nap.  Apparently he's had a long night.  I think he picked the cage just to say "Ha ha! I'm on the cage and you can't do anything it!!!".  JERK