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More Chronicles of Fail
1. Bought a blade pruning saw last week intending destruction upon the scraggly pine bush in front of the porch. Half of it is dead wood whose very sharp spines catch at all who pass it, meaning the mail carrier and the poor flyer deliverers. I was looking at a dauntingly expensive weapons-grade clipper with the blade that conquered the Amazon*; clerk said I didn't need anything so hi-falutin and handed me a much more compact jobby for less than $20. I attacked the bush Saturday (and got a six inch gash for my pains) and succeeded in opening up large gaps in it. Contemplated removing the whole right half of the thing: it doesn't shield the porch from the view of passersby on the sidewalk, nor does it block the sun more than the ironwood tree does. Began sawing through a main trunk and the tool came apart in my hands.
Form following function, it looks like there should be a nut and washer holding the handle and blade together, but nary a sign of them could I see anywhere. Prof Islamic Studies came over to look with me and found nothing either. (He did however finish sawing the branch for me with his own proper saw.) Did I keep the receipt? No, naturally not. Shall take it in tomorrow anyway and see if they can suggest a nut and bolt. They'll probably suggest I buy another cheap pruning saw.
* We had a Trinidadian staff who periodically went back to visit family and came home one time with a machete. Customs had this and that to say about it: 'This is called an offensive weapon.' Rick shrugged: 'At home, we call it a domestic implement.' They let him keep it.
2. My wheel was indeed soft on Saturday morning. Slow leak. Took the bike into the local shop and he could fix it right away. 'Come back in an hour.' Did. 'You need a new wheel. This one is rotted through with salt and crud.' I'd noticed I was losing the side walls on them- they're six years old, but also the pricey puncture resistant ones, which is why they lasted so long. (That, and my bike not having been stolen every five years as is the norm-till-now.) Guy didn't have any of these so gave me a sturdy type to be going on with. I'll swap it for a no-punc when that comes in and Sturdy can go on the front.
So I bicycled away and Oh. My. God. was it hard pedalling. My brakes sulk when you- well, do anything to the wheel, actually- so I played with them and got it to go a little faster but oy vey *work*. The new tires also lack the smooth centre that I used to complain about as losing me grip in wet conditions. Well, I may grip now but I don't go fast, which is what smooth tires are for. And today I had a massage and acupuncture, puff puff puff from Dufferin to Spadina, from Bloor to College and home. 'This will surely tone my legs,' I thought as I laboured up Shaw, 'but at this point I'd rather walk.' So dropped by shop and said Look I really need smooth-centre tires. And he said well fine, but maybe you should try pumping your tires more? Huh? they just came fresh from the compressed air pump yesterday. 'Yeah well, my assistant tends to be a bit conservative with the pump...' As in, 20 lbs for a 60 lb tire conservative.
But now I go like the wind- while wondering if perhaps I acquired another slow leak yesterday. As I did the day after I first bought these puncture-proof tires.
3. Feet swell like rising bread dough. Even the balance scale says I've gained weight. The digital says I'm heavier than I've been in eight years. My doctor says 'when you're not anxious all the time, you eat normally.' I say, when my gut's not off from chronically worrying, when I'm not walking an hour a day, when I'm not shovelling snow, yes I gain weight-- but not like *this*. Something's slowed my metabolism down to nothing in the last year and I'm sure it's my not-chronically-worrying pills. OTOH of course I bounce back faster from unpleasant things I can't do anything about (Brexit, our bus.coord's father, prima donnas at work.) A trade-off, but...
Form following function, it looks like there should be a nut and washer holding the handle and blade together, but nary a sign of them could I see anywhere. Prof Islamic Studies came over to look with me and found nothing either. (He did however finish sawing the branch for me with his own proper saw.) Did I keep the receipt? No, naturally not. Shall take it in tomorrow anyway and see if they can suggest a nut and bolt. They'll probably suggest I buy another cheap pruning saw.
* We had a Trinidadian staff who periodically went back to visit family and came home one time with a machete. Customs had this and that to say about it: 'This is called an offensive weapon.' Rick shrugged: 'At home, we call it a domestic implement.' They let him keep it.
2. My wheel was indeed soft on Saturday morning. Slow leak. Took the bike into the local shop and he could fix it right away. 'Come back in an hour.' Did. 'You need a new wheel. This one is rotted through with salt and crud.' I'd noticed I was losing the side walls on them- they're six years old, but also the pricey puncture resistant ones, which is why they lasted so long. (That, and my bike not having been stolen every five years as is the norm-till-now.) Guy didn't have any of these so gave me a sturdy type to be going on with. I'll swap it for a no-punc when that comes in and Sturdy can go on the front.
So I bicycled away and Oh. My. God. was it hard pedalling. My brakes sulk when you- well, do anything to the wheel, actually- so I played with them and got it to go a little faster but oy vey *work*. The new tires also lack the smooth centre that I used to complain about as losing me grip in wet conditions. Well, I may grip now but I don't go fast, which is what smooth tires are for. And today I had a massage and acupuncture, puff puff puff from Dufferin to Spadina, from Bloor to College and home. 'This will surely tone my legs,' I thought as I laboured up Shaw, 'but at this point I'd rather walk.' So dropped by shop and said Look I really need smooth-centre tires. And he said well fine, but maybe you should try pumping your tires more? Huh? they just came fresh from the compressed air pump yesterday. 'Yeah well, my assistant tends to be a bit conservative with the pump...' As in, 20 lbs for a 60 lb tire conservative.
But now I go like the wind- while wondering if perhaps I acquired another slow leak yesterday. As I did the day after I first bought these puncture-proof tires.
3. Feet swell like rising bread dough. Even the balance scale says I've gained weight. The digital says I'm heavier than I've been in eight years. My doctor says 'when you're not anxious all the time, you eat normally.' I say, when my gut's not off from chronically worrying, when I'm not walking an hour a day, when I'm not shovelling snow, yes I gain weight-- but not like *this*. Something's slowed my metabolism down to nothing in the last year and I'm sure it's my not-chronically-worrying pills. OTOH of course I bounce back faster from unpleasant things I can't do anything about (Brexit, our bus.coord's father, prima donnas at work.) A trade-off, but...