Call me weakling. I am an aching mass of quivering arm muscles. Lissa and I spent hours this weekend breaking concrete. We cut a strip several inches wide out of our driveway, to get a new water line to our garden.
I admit now I thought it was a bad idea. But Lissa wanted to do it, and she is my betrothed beloved, so I went a long without complaint. This is an important lesson of marriage I have learned. Sometimes one just goes along without complaint. (Plus it’s not like I had a better idea.) And of course, what I thought would be nigh impossible worked quite well once Lissa got a diamond blade for her saw, and neighbor Bud loaned us a steel pry bar and an extra sledge hammer.
Lissa, of course, is the muscular and competent one. I whacked with the hammers all I could, but I’m a skinny weakling, so I feel like I accomplished little, mostly cheering her on and pulling weeds while I “rested”. The weeds are under control, and we’ve now got room for a nice new water line for our timer-driven drip irrigation system. But damn I slept lousy. My arms ache.