It’s settled. Instead of plopping my butt down and filling cupped hands to the brim with acorn clusters, I’m buying a—wait. I watched a YouTube video on the Garden Weasel, that cantaloupe-sized barred cage you roll over the acorns, and the flex of the metal bars lets them squeeze through like Bugs Bunny slipping in and out of jail.
Only, the review showed the muscle and back-and-forth required for minimal pickup. Instead, I want the Acorn Grabber 2000. That’s not its real name, but at the lowest price point of $600 for a 12″, I’m curious if a hardware store near me rents them. Because holy mother-effing cow—those little cleat-like prongs picked up acorns and pinged them into the cage like magic.
I’m feeling good. I can tell because there’s a light hopefulness, a sweet satisfaction of a well-balanced day—some meaning from working with clients, some exercise playing ground-height volleyball with Evelyn and Dave using our see-through beach ball packed with glitter, and a bit of relaxation reading my book and eating a taco salad.
Space Jam is playing on a big screen at a park near us in a few days, which sent me to check the weather. Sun, sun, sun, and high 70s. Meanwhile, back home (yes, I still call Washington home), it’s in the low 50s. Having sunny weather like this heading into November feels like, by moving, I’ve cheated the system and bypassed the Northwest winter blues.
Then four days from now I see a 25-degree dip, sending us into the 40s—and 20s at night—and I have a mini panic wondering if we need insulation around the hose bibs. If not that, I’ll at least take the hoses off.
But yeah, I can take the dip. Because it’s just a fluke. My fall-in-the-70s should return to their regularly scheduled programming shortly.
Take care.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 