The bloom of this handyman rose...

.... is withering on the vine.

We had such high hopes for this latest handyman. And rightly so, since he was so enthusiastic about doing such a fine job when he started working here.  He's still doing a good job, and we do realize that it's been very hot outside, but honestly, when he starts working at 11:30 (instead of 8:00) what can he expect on an August day in Texas?  And then he leaves at 4:30 after just beginning at 11:30. Better than a banker's hours.

Added to the heat... a cell phone in his pocket that seems to ring once every hour. When this handyman started working here, he would answer his cell phone and say "Make it quick! I'm working!" Within five seconds, he was done with his very infrequent phone calls.  Now he leisurely takes the cell phone out of his pockets, looks to see who the call is from, and then either answers the call or reads a text message and then replies with a message of his own. Give me a blessed break.

We have not had good luck with handymen since Handyman #1 (W) stopped working here when he went off to do bigger and better jobs that paid more than a handyman's wages.  Right about now, I'd sell half of these acres just to get W back here working.

I've lost track of how many handymen we've gone through since W.  There was that one young guy who came to trim down a tree and stopped every ten seconds to pull up his pants. (I guess he never heard of that amazing invention called a 'belt.')

Then there was the guy we hired to trim all the little decorative trees in the flowerbeds around the house and he proceeded to also trim the pecan trees in the backyard, which were not meant to be pruned at that time of the year. It's a wonder my husband didn't chase him down the hill after that little surprise. (When asked why he trimmed those pecan trees, that handyman's answer was "Because they were there.")

We had handyman M, who took up residence in our barn in exchange for paying rent, and it turned out that city-boy M hadn't ever lived out in the country, and cringed at the sight of a spider, screamed when he saw a scorpion, and had no idea that weeds once pulled tend to grow back at an alarming rate. ("But I just pulled up those weeds three weeks ago!") He lasted here six months and then we all parted ways on a friendly-enough basis.

We also had a few handymen who were recommended by neighbors....  some of whom stood there and told my husband "Not a problem!" when they were asked to do some outside landscaping chores.  Checking back with those handymen after twenty minutes or so, my husband discovered that there was indeed a problem because one of them didn't know how to use power tools, another couldn't stop smoking long enough to pull up a dozen weeds within an hour, one sliced through an electric cord with a hedge-trimmer, and another one just sat there in a flowerbed contemplating the way the breeze was blowing through the leaves of a Live Oak tree.  I repeat: Give me a blessed break.

So now we're down to this lone survivor of the handyman world up here in the hills. Heaven help us. When I think of all of the beautiful gardens we saw in England earlier this month, I have to shake my head in wonder as to how many handymen are in that country across the Atlantic who are able to grow flowers and keep hedges trimmed and have weed-free flowerbeds from one end of a garden to the other.

I still believe that we can find someone to live in our barn apartment who will keep up with the landscaping chores around here in exchange for rent. Surely, someone is out there whose mission in life is to cut grass, pull weeds, trim hedges, prune trees, grow flowers and vegetables, and make sure that our property doesn't begin looking like an over-grown and uncontrolled mass of green grass and brown hay.

"Dream on," says my husband.

Well, pardon me for still believing in fairy tales.