Facing Facts

There is no degradation to admitting my days of non-stop yard work are over.

Whereas a couple decades ago I pregnantally moved vet trailers (to mow. a feat which, while admirable at the time, I now regret), picking up pine cones in the yard is now too much to handle.

Thankfully, my available slaves helped me.

"Anybody sore from picking up pine cones, yesterday?"

"Nope!" they replied, all too cheerfully. Confirming that which is all too obvious.

I. Am. Old.

It's the ancient quadracepal dilemma. And it makes going up and down the stairs, particularly down, an excruciating experience.

It also makes one carefully gauge the the need for traversing floor to floor.

Important questions must be asked:

"I need a nap, but that means going upstairs...." (and eventually coming down)

"Do I really need to visit the little Ma's room?" (I'd have to come down the steps, again)

"How hard would it be for the boys to construct a litter?"

Currently my down-the-stairs trips are accomplished in Frankenstein fashion, stiff-legged and thumpy, with unspoken "OW's!" at each step.

All this to say, there may be some merit to paving the yard.

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