I emptied the newer raised bed of its soil and put it back in, amending as I went. It's the same "planter's mix" from Pioneer Sand and Gravel but it is so much more clay-y than the first bed's. It's hardpan, and I don't think two bales of peat moss and a couple of bags each of compost and aged manure are enough amendment. I do not relish repeating the task, soon or next year or ever, not unless I develop some core strength. My back is shredded, despite lifting with legs.
I didn't quite finish the job. Some chunks of clay-cement I dumped along the fence under the downspout in stupid hopes of run-off or fill. The fact is that this dirt has no place on my property and the only place I can remove it to is the garbage. Unless I illegally heap it in the alley with a sign saying "free fill" and a deluded soul takes it. But by 5 o'clock I was done and didn't tackle that problem.
I did make dinner though. After AEK and I saw "Transamerica" a couple of months ago, she made a crab chowder whose recipe she got from Southwest magazine (the southwest being so well-known for its crab and its chowder). My notstepmother told me last week that I am a good cook, which amused me because she was not privy to the pre-arrival menu-planning, stressing, and preparation, and because I didn't make a single dinner over their three nights; plus, sometime later when she described her recipe for macaroni and cheese and without irony or embarrassment mentioned Spam as an ingredient, any praise I had felt was canceled. But I had never made this chowder before, only watched AEK make it, and even my heating marinara sauce and boiling pasta is liable to be criticized by the actual cook, so I was nervous. RDC admitted liking it! which made me happy, until a while later when he suspected the crab hadn't sat well with him (a hypothesis he tested again with the leftover crab as crab salad the next day). But he figured it was the crab's fault, not mine.