Thursday, October 9, 2025 – Day 422

Thursday, October 9, 2025

Good morning, blog readers.

Three days to go until the Chicago Marathon this Sunday! As of this morning, Andy’s Army has raised an incredible $56,422. Nicole is just $635 shy of $30,000—amazing. If you’d like to help her cross that milestone, just click on the hamburger icon (top right) and then tap 🎗️Fundraiser. I can’t say thank you enough for all this wonderful support.

Yesterday, Mark B. and Fred came over to help hang the Moravian star. Actually, Mark had to come twice—the landscapers interrupted our mid-morning attempt, so we picked things back up in the afternoon.

This was Mark’s first introduction to the potato gun, which is our tool of choice for launching an arborist line over the high oak branches. It took a little explaining—there’s a surprising amount of nuance to shooting a line over a 75-foot branch without getting tangled in the surrounding trees.

It was fun watching Mark and Fred work together: untangling the line, checking the air pressure (120 psi), and loading the gun. It took five shots to finally get the line over the right branch. The first few attempts were underpowered—better that than overshooting and wrapping around other limbs. Mark’s aim was perfect; his second shot cleared the branch exactly as planned, but the line snagged on smaller branches and the bean bag wouldn’t drop. So he had to nail that perfect shot again—and wouldn’t you know it—bullseye, two times!

Then came the slow, patient work of coaxing the bean bag to the ground. Watching him gently pull slack through the line looked like an exercise in fly-fishing—balancing the friction on the branch with just enough weight to inch the bag down.

Once the arbor line was in place, it was time to raise the main line for the pulley and star. We had to stop there because, of course, I didn’t have the right string of lights. Five bins of lights in the garage, and not a single suitable strand. So we paused the project to regroup this morning.

At one point, I drove my power chair into the mulched area to explain something—and promptly got the 436-pound chair stuck. The drive wheels buried themselves, and the guys had to push it out—with me standing off to the side, shaking my head. Once freed, I climbed back in, only to find the chair flashing error messages and refusing to move.

My stomach dropped. I started basic troubleshooting but couldn’t clear the error. Frustration built as my weak voice struggled to cut through the noise, and I finally barked at Cindy to get the manual. The words came out louder—and harsher—than I intended. I knew immediately how it must have sounded. Thankfully, Cindy didn’t walk away; she grabbed the manual, and Mark found the section that helped us reset the system. The chair came back to life, and I rolled safely back onto the lawn.

I apologized to Cindy for snapping at her. We talked about it later, and the truth is simple: I need to work on my patience when my voice fails me. It’s nobody’s fault when they can’t hear me—it’s just part of where things are. But it still stings. Sorry, honey. ❤️

Have a great Thursday, everyone. Love you guys! ❤️

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