Did you have a good weekend?

Like all Monday mornings, it is the question of the day. It's what polite folks ask to get the day started with others. My Monday work is at home, so I won't be asked this question. But I can tell you for sure that tomorrow when I walk through the door of the little quilt shop where I work on Tuesdays, I will be greeted with, "Hey girl! Good to see you! Did you have a good weekend?"

Well, that depends on how you describe a good weekend. If a good weekend entails waking up on Saturday with two days ahead of watching sports on the television, or meeting friends for shopping and dinner out, a movie, or catching up on sleep or craft projects, seeing the grand kids, then no, I didn't have a good weekend

That used to define a good weekend to me. And it will again in a year or so. Except the sports part. Truly, truly, truly abhor anything sports related. Don't get me started. Saturdays find the MOTH and me eating a good breakfast and donning old work clothes and heavy boots to head down the road to the ramshackle little farmhouse to put two days worth of labor into our dream bank. I'm sure to all who see it, it is  more a nightmare than a dream. And sometimes, when I am doing something I don't particularly care to do, I keep hoping I will wake up and find it all done. Not going to happen. But we soldier on. One nail at a time. One trench at a time.   I think the planned tin roof going on this summer is going to really sparkle the place up. Getting the walls  on the back side will help too. Not to mention paint. And windows.

I got to un-bury and dig out the trench that was dug and buried last weekend. Yeah. Fun stuff this renovating. The only good part about that was watching how excited the chickens got at all that fresh dirt flying about. They pecked and scratched looking for good stuff to eat while I grunted my way through shovels of dirt. If grunting will get the job done, I am the woman for the job. I am a noisy worker. If the work is not too hard, I sing my way through it. If it is really hard, I grunt my way through.I got that little trait from my moma. I think it gets on Jerry's nerves.

Other than ditch digging, there wasn't a lot I could do to help Jerry with what he was doing, so I cleaned out the front half of my chicken coop and built some shelves and some raised bed frames for the garden. I am not a good builder of things and that took a long time. And a lot of drill bits. Jerry, if you are reading this, put drill bits on the Lowe's list. The little black skinny ones. Sorry.

So now I gauge the goodness of my weekends on how much progress is made and how sore and dirty I am when I get home. Sunday evening found me covered in sawdust and chicken dust from the coop and the trench re-covered. Jerry ended up helping. I think he got tired of the grunting and the fussing about having to re-do the thing. It took a lot of soap and a lot of Epsom's salts in the tub to remove the aches and pains, so yeah, I had a good weekend.