"Guys?"

That was the wake-up call this morning, as the Little Ditchman climbed out of bed and wandered down the hall looking for us. Second day in a row. She sleeps in a bedroom that faces the rising sun, so she's the first one to wake. Coffee Maker lessons start tomorrow.

SO Bad Dad strikes again. Yesterday was much longer and harder than originally anticipated. I had to tear down an old aluminum patio cover and today I replace it with a new one. Usually, the old ones just unscrew and pile in the truck, but this one was all rusty square-headed bolts and some antiquated maddening system of trestles that would not relent.


Thirty years of dirt, tennis balls, champagne corks, birds' nests all came down on my head. It took as long to sweep up as it did to load in the truck. I got home at eight to a scowling Mrs. Ditchman. It was Bunco night, which is why she had wanted me to come home early. I forgot. It couldn't be helped. I was considering the origin of the old champagne corks. Probably thirty years of Bunco nights.

It's disappointing, too, considering that after the last Bunco night she wandered in at 11:00PM and proudly tossed me a wad of cash. She's a competitor. She plays to win. It's one of the reasons I married her: we need someone like that in the family. (I, on the other hand, don't play to win. I play to laugh. I play to drink.) Anyway, it's probably good that she didn't make it, you've got to let the other girls win from time to time to stay in good standing, be invited back.

Took a shower and nearly clogged the drain with the detritus of someone's old poolside shade structure washing off me. I imagine 30 years hence some poor soul will have the same experiences, after removing my old aluminum covers and rebuilding them with nice, sturdy buckypaper covers. I pray for that poor bastard. I hope he leaves early for work so he can get home in time for his wife to make it to Bunco night with the rest of the hens. It's important.

Then I turned on the tele to watch Fringe, but someone's head exploded in the first minute, so I switched over to Dancing With The Stars Whose Careers Are In Decline And Need A PR Boost. No one bled out of their eyes on that show, which was nice. What I need is some bloody escapism, not bloody realism. Dumb Hollywood.

Back to Santa Ana today to rebuild, but first I'm going to try and recycle yesterday's cover. Sometimes I can get fifty bucks for it, instead of paying fifty bucks to drop it off at the transfer station, but I heard the "bottom dropped out of the world market" on recyclables. I'll let you know.


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