Thursday morning, I opened my blinds and thought I saw a vine growing in one of my bushes. A little while later, I went out to pull it off but it had thorns on it and I couldn’t pull it out of the ground. Yesterday, I got my garden gloves and my snippers and went back to finish.
When I went around the corner to my front yard, all I could think was “for crying out loud” (which was really “what the fuck!”) A huge limb from my maple tree had fallen across my yard. Great! Just fucking great!
It wasn’t anything that hadn’t happened to me before. When “we” lived in Charleston, half of one of my Bradford pear trees split and fell all the way across the front yard, which was about fifty feet wide. I texted Loser a picture and he texted back with “LOL.”
Okay. I guess it was funny…to him. The next day, I bought a chain saw and came home and went to work. I had to chop up that whole half tree into pieces less than four feet long because the yard refuse people wouldn’t take anything bigger. It took almost a week to chop it up and haul it down to the curb.
I guess Loser was too busy playing golf and tramping around to drive back “home” and help me. Besides, he knew there was nothing I couldn’t handle. I had always been his “right hand man.”
When our split was obviously going to be permanent, he asked me if he could have my chainsaw. He said he needed it to cut up a tree that was blocking the dirt road entrance to “his property.” I let him have it and then he asked what I was going to do with all of my other tools. I told him I was probably going to sell them at a garage sale. He sent a “sweet” pleading for me to let him have them saying “they would mean more to me than anything you could get for them at a garage sale.”
I knew what he had in mind. He wanted my tools to build his dream house for him and his WTC. He had always talked about how “I” was going to do all the manual labor for “the house on the property.” He told me that I could frame it and drywall it and do the electrical and plumbing. His contribution was probably going to be sitting there drinking beer and reading a book and of course, yelling at me if I should get hurt.
I asked him to return my chainsaw, which he had gotten somebody to “service.” It pissed him off and he said “I had that serviced and now you want it back.” I don’t know what the big deal was. I actually went with him to cut the log up and he didn’t even know how to start it. I had to show him how to start it, run it and cut the log. (Maybe he can get his WTC to figure out how to run one.)
I explained to him that since I had bought it, cut up the tree that had fallen in OUR yard while he sat there, sending smiley emoticons and doing his usual whoring around, I felt like the saw rightfully belonged to me. I also told him that he was getting none of my tools and the only reason they would mean something to him was because he could get them free. I told him he could buy his own fucking tools.
When my son was here, he got the chainsaw running but he ruined the blade. I bought another blade but I don’t know what he did to it because it no longer works. I have a cute little hand saw that is for small bushes but it’s all I have for cutting down trees.
I cut all the branches off the large limb and hauled them to the curb. There were twenty-one of those suckers. I was trying not to sever an arm, all the while fighting off Zika virus carrying mosquitoes and most importantly, trying not to break a fingernail.
And here they are, holding the handle of my little saw. Loser used to call them my “claws.” Breaking a fingernail is almost like losing a finger. When I break one, I can’t go get another one glued on. I have to grow it but they do grow pretty fast. I had just cut them two days ago.
With just the large limb left, which is still half attached to the tree trunk, I decided to swing on it and see if I could get it to snap. I stopped short of saying “whee” as I swung back and forth.
My neighbor drove by and saw me swinging from the limb like Tarzan and said “that’s like trying to move a bowling ball with a feather.” Okay. Thanks for stopping by and (in Elvis voice) “fuck you. Fuck you very much.”
It did occur to me momentarily…”what if it does snap and hits me on the noggin’?” I decided that I can’t think about that now. I’ll think about that tomorrow.
I figure if I can get through an inch or two every day, I’ll have that limb cut up and down on the curb by Halloween.
It’s funny. I spent almost my entire life, being there for people…helping them do things…doing things that by all rights a man should do and here I am. I have no husband to help (not that he was worth a shit at helping anyway.) I have no son…no sons-in-law…no nephews….nobody who I can call and ask for help.
The expectation from me was always “she’ll get it done.” It was required. It was demanded. It was never a big deal and it was hardly ever appreciated…but I did it.
I imagine that as long as I can at least try, I’ll keep trying. It just may take a little longer now.