Good grief! Hub swapped out the used propane  table under the BBQ, figuring it would be easier for me to carry – which it was. He assembled Mr. Heater this morning and fired it up. Small but mighty. The damned thing sounded like a jet engine, which isn’t a bad thing if you’re taxiing for take off to some exotic location. Even better was the fact that the invisible cone of heat frizzled the toughest thatches of quack grass. Yowza! I flame-bombed the front steps, standing back to admire the tiny puffs of smoke rising lazily into the air. Then I realized that I had to sweep up the dried grass clippings because they, too, were starting to smolder.  Just when I thought I…

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