Well, I haven't found the bleepin' camera yet.

It's only been missing since Sunday when I took pictures of the roses and...whatever that yellow flower is that Rosie planted last spring. It's just gone nuts all-of-a-sudden.

I didn't look for the camera because I decided that, before it rained again, I needed to finish shingling the "tree house." It's not in a tree, it's a play "yard" that I bought from Menard's and built when Rosie was three. The tarp roof that it came with dissolved finally, so Rosie and I decided it needed one with a twenty-year warranty.

Right after I bought the shingles, I found the tarpaper left over from when we re-roofed the house. Interestingly, that was done at the same time I built the play "yard." The guys who were helping me let me (told me to) spend the afternoon doing that with their tools while they attended to the routine work of nailing down shingles.

The chop-saw was a huge help. I couldn't have done it in an afternoon without it. I think I impressed the guys, who were both farmers from Up North. One of them said that it was surprising how well I handled tools for a... Well, I wasn't real clear on what it is that I'm supposed to be.

I'll tell you what I am. I'm quiet. I listen. I watch. I pay attention. I learn.

I took wood shop and metals shop in school. They taught us a lot, back in the days before they decided that education money was better spent on grief counselors and assistant secretaries. Which happened about five minutes after I graduated.