Another week has come and gone and I’m trying to figure out how to get back the time I’ve lost in the past 7 days. Impossible to do, but a nice wish, isn’t it? I love life when it gets so crazy hectic that you can’t even stop and think a coherent thought.
Yesterday was one of those very days. For example, we live on a dead end gravel road. That means the county does not acknowledge us for any type of road repairs. We six houses must keep the road plowed, lay gravel, have the oil sprayed for dust and general do whatever maintenance is necessary. For the past five years, my neighbor across the street has been in charge. This year the baton is passing to my hubby, who generously said “Since you don’t work outside the house, you can do it.”
Ok, that got my attention real quick. Now I’m in charge of getting the estimates on all of the above stuff, printing up notes to the neighbors, leaving them in their mailboxes and then badgering them about the money when due. Sounds like so much fun to me. Doesn’t it to you? Especially in this economy when every nickel counts.
I talked to my neighbor’s wife who will be handing over the folder of ‘road info’ to me next week and she told me one of the neighbors called to say he felt the road needed gravel laid. Of course it does. It’s his adult kid who drives like a banshee up and down the road at least a dozen times a day with his truck and landscape trailer. Still not sure why he is making so many trips as he doesn’t even live down the street anymore. And he sure as heck can’t read the 25 mile an hour speed limit sign that is posted. When he hits the gravel off the pavement you can watch that trailer bounce a good foot in the air. Worse part is we have little kids down here and you all know you can’t get good traction on gravel should you need to stop fast. And once you rake all the gravel out of the lawns where the snow plow pushed it, we’ll probably be just fine again. But the fun job is to rake it out of the lawn.
Better yet, the neighbor who wants the gravel laid does not like to deal with women. He is from the South and believes it’s the man’s job to handle things like this. On more than one occasion in the past, he has called here and told me he will not talk to me, he will only talk to my hubby because it’s between the men. Boy is he in for a shock. I’m no shrinking violet and the harder someone pushes me the more I fight back. Hmm, this could be a fun year. (G)
So, be forewarned, if you’re in my neck of the woods and you hear yelling, it’s probably just me being my pleasant little old self as the new “Road Mama” exercising my verbal rights to taking care of the road. Because the more you tell me I can’t do something, the more I will prove you wrong.
Happy Sunday everyone!