Fork Fix

Busy day.
After finding out I was free, I wrote a couple of emails to several of those involved, then subsequently trashed them. The only one worth sending was to the web developer who is my "taskmaker." I do web work. Nothing more. The email was mainly a thank you note.

Then I went out and helped my Dad to spade several places for their veggies. I first jogged over to the storage place, got my garden fork and jogged back. Shortly after I started digging, the fork broke. After finishing the chore, we got together and mended that fork, which had been sold as a fiberglass. However, the manufacturer cheated and had wood, too, which had rotted.

My dad grew up in the Great Depression, a son of a coal miner out in the hills of Boone County. He learned early not to toss things just because they are broken, but fix them if possible and continue working.

My wrist hurt, but everything got done except for what I had been wanting to do, organizing the moved stuff. Priorities.