Slice of Lime-My Spring Sprung

I still can't seem to get pictures from my good camera off my computer and onto Blogger or into an email but things from my phone seem to work. Go figure. Once I can you'll get the Slice planned for last week. In the meantime we have a different tale of woe.

We have had a trampoline for about 6 years. It has been used hard and enjoyed quite a lot. Last winter Isaac was trying to rid it of a rather heavy load of snow. In the process he gouged it several times with the shovel and ripped up the mat. The frame was still good so we didn't want to toss the whole thing. I found a seller on eBay who stocked replacement mats and ordered one, hoping it would arrive in time for Diana's graduation party so the little people attending could enjoy the trampoline. It arrived on time but it was the wrong size. For anyone else who ever needs to order one of these here's a tip. Don't measure the diameter of the mat and assume that is all you need. Measure the diameter of the frame and count how many springs have to attach to the mat. After much correspondence delayed by a number of things we determined the correct size of mat we needed and worked out an exchange for the proper one. It arrived a couple days ago. I was anxious to reassemble the trampoline and test it out.

I could say this is a picture I took after finishing while I laid on the shiny new surface and gazed up through the magnificent oaks and pondered the beauty of the world. That would be a lie.

Perhaps the next picture displays a greater hint at the truth. As an aside, note the little red building in the distance. That is "Manland." Mr. Lime has claimed that as his own space and banned anyone who does not possess external genitalia from entering. He has gone so far as to add a padlock to the door and hide the key without telling me where it is. I am not particularly bothered by this except that he moved all the tools and hardware out there and on occasion I need a hammer, drill , wrench, or DeWalt Heavy Duty 15 amp 12 inch Dual-Bevel Sliding Compound Miter Saw (More Power! *Grunt-grunt-grunt*) in order to fix something broken around here. I have some friends who work up a lather of righteous indignation over the concept of "Manland" and all it represents. I find it merely a logistical annoyance somewhat reminiscent of the He-Man Women Hater's Club. So weigh in with your opinion on the issue if you wish. Moving on...

Are you beginning to get the picture with regard to my resolve in installing the new trampoline mat? You know the amount of tension from all those springs and how taut a trampoline mat is? Yeah. You know how much muscle it takes to hook those friggin grommets into the springs? Ok, I hate math (except geometry, which is a beautiful and elegant thing) and I never took physics. Here's the conversation I had when I dropped the physics class...

Guidance counselor: You need physics for college

Me: No I don't. I satisfied my science requirement to get in

GC: You need it anyway

Me: No I don't. I'm going to be a special Ed. teacher. I'll never have to teach this stuff to my students and the only physics I might need I already learned. If I work with a kid in a wheelchair, apply the brakes when parked. If not I'd better be able to run faster than the chair rolls downhill. Got it. I'm good. Drop the class.

Right, so last night my fine grasp of physics led me to decide the amount of pressure I needed to apply to the springs and the mat divided by the amount of strength in Janita multiplied by the hunger the whole family and squared over pi equaled me saying, "Mr. Lime gets to do this job. After all, he has a Manland full of tools and external genitalia. I'm sure he can do this better than I can. I shall be content to prepare a tasty meal, launder vile athletic clothes, run the mom taxi, clean the house, negotiate better deals on home owner's insurance, and provide editing, counselling, and distance banking services to Limelettes for today."

I gave up the wrestling match after hooking 38 of the 88 springs to grommets.

This is the face of a woman who has other crap to expend her energy on besides wrestling trampoline mats. This is the face of a woman who got up at the butt crack of dawn to drive 5 teenagers to a charter school. Seriously, don't the bags under those eyes say she should just lay down a while?


Who am I to argue with bags like that?