On trees and life.

Sometimes, days just start out on the wrong foot.

This morning, as I got in my car to go to work, I turned the corner. And then I was greeted with this sight:



In case you can't see the photo very well, that's a giant tree limb that is kind of, sort of, half-way broken and hanging onto dear life in the middle of my street.

In the words of my 2-year-old niece: "It boke."



This would have been a problem for any driver, as the limb was basically hanging so low it was blocking the street.

Only, the problem tree is on my property, which means it's my responsibility to fix it.

Arg!

I have no idea what happened to it. The Pugs woke me up to tell me about the storm at around 2 a.m. I'm guessing it's either wind damage or a lightning strike.

Lightning sounds way cooler, so that's the answer I'm going to go with.

The thing is, I don't really need a tree on my property to fall on someone's head.

So, who do you call at 8 a.m. to help fix a tree so the problem branch doesn't fall off and kill someone?

Dad. You call Dad.





I won't mention how, exactly, he chopped some of the branches off. For the record, I told him it wasn't the safest thing in the world to do.

In my defense, he only bled a little bit.

So, that was my morning. And by my morning, I mean my Dad's morning, because I certainly didn't do 99.9 percent of the work.

Manual labor, sweating, and blood, all before 8:40 a.m.

The actual branch that broke is about 20 feet up in the air, and it's too high for a DIY job. I have some calls out to tree trimming businesses today.

This tree sums up my life kind of perfectly.

Shit happens. You fix it the best you can, and then you go back to work.