|Scott's cousin Kurt starts digging up the lawn|
Scott walks in while I'm doing something at the kitchen counter and says, "I've decided it has to be a septic tank." He has been hemming and hawing about whether to put time and money into working on the lagoon and then maybe this winter it would do the trick, or digging a septic tank in and having done with the b.s. "Let's phone Kurt and see if he can come and help you move those rosebushes."
So I'm outside in my fluffy white housecoat with a winter jacket over top, bare feet slipped into shoes, to confab about where the rosebushes should go before Scott leaves to haul bales. A heavy frost is on the grass this morning and the forecast for tomorrow is our first dump of snow.
Kurt is racing the elements as he has to dig down a foot or more into clay, and there are stones from the old foundation, and caragana roots sometimes encroach as well. I would be frustrated as hell, jumping with both feet onto the shovel and getting it only a half-inch into the ground each time. I'm happy to let Kurt plug away at it while Emil dries the dishes I wash. Then I haul out the ingredients for a batch of chocolate chip bran muffins.
But first, tea.
Did I mention my youngest son turns 19 today?
I like to sing him that song, that Carpenters song, you know it:
"On the day that you were born
The angels got together
And decided to create a dream come true ...
So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair
And golden starlight in your eyes of blue -- "
Oh hell, here's the way it's supposed to sound!
When I sing it he gets pissed off, but I care not, because when it comes to my little sweetie, every word rings true.