"The wages of sin are death, but by the time taxes are taken out it's just kind of a tired feeling." - Paula Poundstone

Have you seen the TV commercial for the supplement that reportedly improves memory? The voiceover says it's made from an ingredient "originally found in jellyfish." I guess that explains why a jellyfish never forgets his phone number.

I took the teardrop to the DMV so I could get OR plates before we leave to meet the kids at Sunset Bay St. Pk. Wednesday after lunch. Turns out the spare tire mount I installed covers up the tab with the VIN number and I didn't have the 3/4" wrench to remove it. So I'll be going back in tomorrow morning.
Phooey!

After taking care of a few chores and sharpening the chain saw I headed into the woods on the other side of the creek to attach a fir tree that had blown down not too long ago. It still had needles on the branches so it had been down a couple of months at most. I didn't take a pic at the start because you wouldn't have been able to see anything except for a tangled mess of brown and green.

The first step was to cut all the branches off where they attached to the tree, a process known as limbing or chasing. That was hard work because it meant holding the chainsaw at odd angles while I climbed over the mess of those branches on all sides of the tree. Here's a pic of the limbed tree. I didn't measure but I'm guessing 80'-100'. Because it's a white fir it doesn't have the girth of a Douglas fir of similar height. (I'm learning a LOT about trees and the insects who love them.)

The next step is bucking, which refers to cutting the tree into logs. I can't find any place that tells me if that word also applies if those "logs" are 18" rounds destined to be split for firewood.

I expected this part of the process to be at least as tricky but it was easier. The ground is soft so I dug a channel under the log every 10' or so that allowed me to cut all the way through without hitting the dirt with my chainsaw. Then I could cut my 18" sections 3/4 of the way through, roll that section over, and cut the rest.

Tomorrow I'll start hauling the rounds out to the road where I can load them into the back of the Kia and take them back to the MoHo side of the creek for splitting. Because this tree was down by the creek that's a lot of uphill. Repeatedly. Ugh.

The Brits pronounce that men's room only fixture a your-EYE-nal.

We seem to have a bumblebee hive under MoHo. Either that or one of them is throwing a killer party in there. They come and go through the same small crack in the skirting all day long.
I don't think I care unless they decide to chew through the floor and join us inside.

Someday we want to get a real dog, something bigger than a milk carton and smarter than a sack of hammers. OK, I want to get a real dog; Pam is happy with Bear. (She chose his name, too.) It's not time to get that dog now, for many reasons, but every once in a awhile I look on Craig's List and on the sites of the three Eugene shelters to see what's available. If the dog is over 20 pounds it's listed as having some Pit Bull in its makeup.
Sorry, won't do it.
What is the deal with Pit Bulls? Why are there so many Pit Bull genes out there? The Golden Lab (our first choice if $$$ was no object) is the most popular breed in the U.S., but you'd never know it by the listings on shelter sites. You'd think Pit Bulls were the most wonderful breed in the world.

Do you think a careful study would show a connection between people who own Pit Bulls and people who support Trump for President?

(Did I really just say that?!)