This morning we conducted the annual "cleaning of the shed." We dragged everything out, cleaned out the remnants of eight wasp nests, sorted through a dozen flower pots, four bags of partially filled potting soil, numerous gardening tools, and enough chemicals to kill every weed in town and/or fertilize every lawn on the block. We divided it all into two boxes: live (for the root starter, plant food, grass seed) and let die (roundup weed killer, insecticides). We got rid of a few shelves, hung all the rakes, shovels, and assorted tools in their proper places. Lost toys were rounded up and returned to their homes, broken bits of fence and trellis were discarded, and we made room for the lawn mower AND the snow blower, parked side by side. (In the next couple months, it's any body's guess which one we'll need).
Here's the crew at work:
Wa-ait a minute. . . looks like we're going to have to dock some one's pay. . .
And what's this?
Oh, I forgot. They're management.