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My dad called from West Virginia just to say hello. Remember, this is the guy who watched most of the Harry Potter movies with us last summer. He might back come out to see us in August. "Unless California is still in a drought," he joked.
"That's right. They won't let you in unless you bring your water with you," I informed him.
That got us on the topic of drought management. He told me he'd heard of a company that skims the sod completely off your yard and replaces it with sand, gravel and drought-tolerant plants. Doesn't that sound great? I've admired other people's yards, but the thought of all those hours, sod-busting, hauling away and planting, makes my old bones ache.
Not sure I could afford someone to do it, though. I know! I'll have Dad get us started. He's 77 and in far better shape than I am.
Just came back to this blog entry, and it occurs to me that, as far as you people are concerned, I don't display the daughterly worry for my out-of-state father as I do for my near-to-me mother. The fact is, I have a lengthy list of silly worries when it comes to my dad--just as lengthy as the worry list I keep on Mom. Different but lengthy. One time, I hadn't heard from him in a long time, and I couldn't get hold of him for the life of me, and I don't remember what the circumstances were, but I became convinced that his then-wife had actually done something heinous to him. So I called his town and asked the police to do a drive-by on him. Yes, really! I'm not proud.
Anyway, he called me about an hour later. "You had a cop come and check on me?" I apologized profusely. He said, "What were you thinking? I could have been baking meth or something!" And it was all okay. That's my dad.
"That's right. They won't let you in unless you bring your water with you," I informed him.
That got us on the topic of drought management. He told me he'd heard of a company that skims the sod completely off your yard and replaces it with sand, gravel and drought-tolerant plants. Doesn't that sound great? I've admired other people's yards, but the thought of all those hours, sod-busting, hauling away and planting, makes my old bones ache.
Not sure I could afford someone to do it, though. I know! I'll have Dad get us started. He's 77 and in far better shape than I am.
Just came back to this blog entry, and it occurs to me that, as far as you people are concerned, I don't display the daughterly worry for my out-of-state father as I do for my near-to-me mother. The fact is, I have a lengthy list of silly worries when it comes to my dad--just as lengthy as the worry list I keep on Mom. Different but lengthy. One time, I hadn't heard from him in a long time, and I couldn't get hold of him for the life of me, and I don't remember what the circumstances were, but I became convinced that his then-wife had actually done something heinous to him. So I called his town and asked the police to do a drive-by on him. Yes, really! I'm not proud.
Anyway, he called me about an hour later. "You had a cop come and check on me?" I apologized profusely. He said, "What were you thinking? I could have been baking meth or something!" And it was all okay. That's my dad.
