Hey Frank! Any room in the dumpster?

WE ONLY GET one day off during the week, Sunday. Much of the time it's spent recovering from another adventure in small retail and playing gigs. Yesterday, however, we decided to take the rug out of the master bedroom (the original hardwood floors are still in great shape) and clean the back porch.

This should fit in Frank's dumpster, no problem.

That meant removing my old recliner and Sheryl's granny chair. I've had my recliner for 12 years - I bought it when I moved into the apartment at 9th and Monroe. It's old and cranky and doesn't work that well anymore, kinda like the owner. The granny chair is still usable.

I thought about having a Calftown Garage Sale - putting my recliner by the street and hoping somebody picks it up. But halfway to the curb it broke. It no longer reclines, there's a gash on the side and the stuffing is coming out.

In other words, I'm calling Frank Haxel and saying, "Uh, Frank, why did you pick up the phone?" and "Got any room in your dumpster?"

We also have a pile of nasty carpet. We filled two garbage bags full of just debris and dirt. We actually scrubbed the back porch to within an inch of its death. Then Sheryl busted a window killing a fly. She didn't die from the puncture wound as it slowly healed. I got a carpet nail wound on my right middle finger. And pulled a hammy. And both our backs don't work, nor does Sheryl's right shoulder. No biggie.

We called Custom Glass this morning and Leo said, "I'll be right over." He got the back window re-glassed and glazed to perfection. Now THAT is small town service to perfection! And Sheryl vows to not kill flies with the bare hands anymore.

We feel better about the clean porch and bedroom. But maybe the moral of the story should be, "Take Sunday off and drink beer in the backyard shade, Hoser." Nobody gets hurt that way.