There are 600 some-odd muscles in the human body.

If I had to take a guess, I’d say every single one of them that resides in my legs hurts this morning, the result of a gung-ho weekend of yard maintenance.

But have the beds out front been weeded? Yup.

Were the broken (*) shrubs by the front walk cut down? Mmm-hmm.

Did the new beds out back get a metric buttload of compost added to them? You betcha.

Was the former fish pond in the backyard leveled off after the recent rains settled some of the original fill dirt? Well… errr, no, not yet.

Did the lawn receive its first cutting of the new year? Ummm… well…

Did those new beds out back get mulched as well? Not exactly…

(Memo to the muscles in my upper body: You’re next.)

(*) We have… that is, had these two shrubs flanking the front walkway, just off the sidewalk. Mysteriously, just before the Christmas holidays, I discovered that both of them had been damaged beyond repair, pretty much split right down their trunks. They weren’t run over (no tire tracks, plus you would have had to plow over our mailbox to get to ’em). I’m pretty certain that lightning didn’t strike both of them. My guess? One of the neighborhood skate punks—who have this tendency to use the neighborhood’s walkways as their personal jump ramps—launched themselves off the steps on our walkway, ate it, (repeat), landing in each of the bushes in turn. Then ran off without so much as a knock on the door. Assholes.