So it seems that every time I feel like blogging something, it’s either ridiculous enough that I can’t believe I was part of it, or it could be perceived as negative.
So I’ve decided to get that out of my system first: It’s possible a gopher cut through our electrical line and we have no power to the winery building. Woe is me.
And now I will switch gears. I was going to be a really awesome wife and attempt to help Scott tweak some insulation and move some things (shovels, etc) tonight because we are having the winery building finished off next week (pending inspection of course). I hung my head walking back from the unlit building this evening wondering how many extra shifts I am going to have to work to pay for the electrician. To prevent myself from cursing, I used a variance of a little trick that I have to use with our toddler sometimes when he is being naughty.
Instead of yelling, you are supposed to count to 10 and calm yourself down.
I started to count, and then I looked down at what I was carrying. I thought “Hey there’s Grandpa’s post hole digger”. Which then led to some nice flashbacks of fishing and picking butternuts with my Grandpa Fritz. We were gifted this digger from my Dad who thought we might need it “on the plantation”. He was right, because the rented digger couldn’t break through some of our toughest soil this fall to get the posts in.
So what did we do? Used Grandpa’s post hole digger. Turns out it works pretty good and is a darn good workout for your arms.
Anyone know a good electrician?