To The Manor

I once knew a woman who declined all menial chores, saying she was "to the manor born."  I rather felt that way myself yesterday.  Before leaving to have an early lunch at the Senior Center with Camille, I instructed one of my mechanical servants to wash the dishes while I was gone.  Camille goes to the Center quite often; I make it only once or twice a year, but try to show up on a day they serve salmon with homemade aioli.  Eating out twice in a week (and I'll be going to Linda's today) is certainly not my usual routine, but I could get used to having my meals prepared.

In the afternoon, in response to a plea for assistance, Helper Dude came to do some weed-eating.  HD showed up in a new-to-him pickup.  He just turned 18 and he's a working fool, paying for the truck himself.  Rightfully proud of himself, he showed off all its bells and whistles.  He'd already worked eight hours at his "real" job, and I explained that not everything here had to be done in one day, but he put in a solid two hours cutting down weeds while I just sat on my duff.  There are plenty more, however, and I'll probably end up sending him through college before it's all done.

The "manor" is looking pretty good these days, and I've got the incentive to finish mowing the yards now.

It was a good day, six mice in the barrel notwithstanding.