As promised, here is the new essay. Thanks again to KenP for the link that set up the piece, or gave me a digression before I even got started on the meat of the thing.
"Did you read it?" the wife asks, just as she does every time one gets published, not that I don't know what I wrote (this ain't my poetry), but to make sure the transfer of copy went without a hitch. My answer is usually in the negative and for reasons not hers.
Today, not because she asked but more because a friend commented on the last two paragraphs, I went back to that section and had a look. I was reminded why I don't, or rather, stopped post-published proofing some time ago.
The last sentence: While its meaning can be ascertained, I am unhappy with the construction. There is an ambiguity that was not included with intention.
And now I tell myself, "You should have let it sit for one more day before having it published, just to let it breathe and then you would catch these mistakes," just like every time I have reread in the past.
You know the phrase of writing wisdom: "It is never finished." The editing is exhausting but never exhaustive, and so, at some point one must let go. I'll start working on that phase now, right after I proof the above.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
In an effort
I could sleep more, I could on this overcast day, while at the same time I haven't given that first cup of coffee the time and therefore credit it might be due.
The nights have been rather extended as of late, for as the big day draws near (well, more than two weeks away and in the scheme of things more anticipated than career-making) I find other duties and desires have not taken the back seat I had planned and hoped for, so I press on with leaky faucets and P-traps, truck maintenance, and pulling off drives on sunnier days to continue with my flag series of photographs. Add to that an essay that was slow in coming because of a lack of will to wallow through the obvious to get to more subtle insights.
But today may offer some respite, and with it a nap. The wife has said she is fine without a fire until sunset, and since the heat for the dungeon is separate, so am I. I suppose I could clean the studio, organize my hard drives, start the book suggested to me or finally prune those fruit trees, supposing implying as it does. I will, however, make an effort to release another frog from the window well before it reminds me again in the dark and therefore too late in the day.
Ah, but yesterday the sun shone!
I have but a very few things left to do for the exhibit.
The essay is with the editor. Ken, you are referenced but not credited. It is for the better, no? Yet, I'll thank you here, again.
I have an appointment to inspect the alignment on the rig this Thursday and at an hour that is manageable.
The plumber should be here at any minute to refine his work.
This is the coffee kicking in.
The nights have been rather extended as of late, for as the big day draws near (well, more than two weeks away and in the scheme of things more anticipated than career-making) I find other duties and desires have not taken the back seat I had planned and hoped for, so I press on with leaky faucets and P-traps, truck maintenance, and pulling off drives on sunnier days to continue with my flag series of photographs. Add to that an essay that was slow in coming because of a lack of will to wallow through the obvious to get to more subtle insights.
But today may offer some respite, and with it a nap. The wife has said she is fine without a fire until sunset, and since the heat for the dungeon is separate, so am I. I suppose I could clean the studio, organize my hard drives, start the book suggested to me or finally prune those fruit trees, supposing implying as it does. I will, however, make an effort to release another frog from the window well before it reminds me again in the dark and therefore too late in the day.
Ah, but yesterday the sun shone!
I have but a very few things left to do for the exhibit.
The essay is with the editor. Ken, you are referenced but not credited. It is for the better, no? Yet, I'll thank you here, again.
I have an appointment to inspect the alignment on the rig this Thursday and at an hour that is manageable.
The plumber should be here at any minute to refine his work.
This is the coffee kicking in.
Friday, February 22, 2013
You'll know when and if you need to read no further
In that we have extended our generosity and offered advice to two sets of young farmers in the area, I am not certain how to differentiate between them for the purposes of this blog and brevity, and to avoid future conflation. We have business relations with both, meaning that we pay for services from one, yet both have purchased some implements and appliances from us. Both are relatively new to farming, meaning that neither had experience before endeavoring; yet, here is where a distinction can be made. One set has had marginal success with crops and have been saved by livestock and the others have done well with the veggies and show no interest in the letting of blood.
The former called last week to ask if we perhaps had a spare freezer we might be willing to sell. We did. They also asked if we had an old bathtub lying about. They had a couple hogs they had tired of feeding to-size. If I understand the procedure, the tub was to serve as a large kettle in order to boil away the skin after dressing out the animals. We did not.
The freezer, a smaller trunk type, might have been considered like-new, for we used it a very short time when we first moved here and before the wife decided a large upright would better suit her needs. It had been sitting in the garage for more than nine years but still worked as of last fall when I checked it out as a suitable temporary storage for an aging dog. (The wife is oriented toward such a future while I am prone to be ready solely by keeping my shovels sharp. No doubt a lapse in her preparedness allowed for a purchase price to be reached.)
When the man from that young farm duo came to fetch and pay, I offered to help unload at his place, to which he agreed. And once we were there, I saw they already had another freezer double the size of the one just purchased. Was there no room? No, for an elk shot this fall and a steer disposed a few weeks ago filled it to capacity. It was thought the two hogs would fill the new one as well and they would be set for a good while, the four of them, without having to nab an aging hen from the coop.
The freezer placed and plugged in, the woman, a pleasant and comely, if a bit eccentric matriarch offered pastries and coffee for ten minutes, the short time period not so much her preference but strategic nonetheless, for she no doubt figured I'd want to be on with my day; and delay and distraction are more welcome to those much busier than I, not to mention when involved in more strenuous labors.
It was at their small kitchen table the subject of butchering again arose and I was reminded of a thought: Could I come to the killing with camera in hand? Both grew solemn and denied the request.
It seems that things did not go well with the steer. Owning a scoped .306 for the prior sole purpose of taking their annual elk, the man had not considered the optics might hinder a proper siting at close range. Yet, when the right eye had been taken out and the animal remained standing, seeing the animal in such a state set him to hasten a second shot without first removing the scope. Hence, a place just below the left eye was opened. Still, the animal, although protesting loudly, remained on all fours. To make matters worse, thinking it would surely take no more than one bullet to do the deed but to have another just in case, a third or fourth was a good one hundred yards back at the house.
No, they would prefer to do the pigs in private. However, in that the price for the freezer was very reasonable, some pork ribs and roasts from both the steer and elk would be coming our way.
I will chew carefully for shrapnel.
The former called last week to ask if we perhaps had a spare freezer we might be willing to sell. We did. They also asked if we had an old bathtub lying about. They had a couple hogs they had tired of feeding to-size. If I understand the procedure, the tub was to serve as a large kettle in order to boil away the skin after dressing out the animals. We did not.
The freezer, a smaller trunk type, might have been considered like-new, for we used it a very short time when we first moved here and before the wife decided a large upright would better suit her needs. It had been sitting in the garage for more than nine years but still worked as of last fall when I checked it out as a suitable temporary storage for an aging dog. (The wife is oriented toward such a future while I am prone to be ready solely by keeping my shovels sharp. No doubt a lapse in her preparedness allowed for a purchase price to be reached.)
When the man from that young farm duo came to fetch and pay, I offered to help unload at his place, to which he agreed. And once we were there, I saw they already had another freezer double the size of the one just purchased. Was there no room? No, for an elk shot this fall and a steer disposed a few weeks ago filled it to capacity. It was thought the two hogs would fill the new one as well and they would be set for a good while, the four of them, without having to nab an aging hen from the coop.
The freezer placed and plugged in, the woman, a pleasant and comely, if a bit eccentric matriarch offered pastries and coffee for ten minutes, the short time period not so much her preference but strategic nonetheless, for she no doubt figured I'd want to be on with my day; and delay and distraction are more welcome to those much busier than I, not to mention when involved in more strenuous labors.
It was at their small kitchen table the subject of butchering again arose and I was reminded of a thought: Could I come to the killing with camera in hand? Both grew solemn and denied the request.
It seems that things did not go well with the steer. Owning a scoped .306 for the prior sole purpose of taking their annual elk, the man had not considered the optics might hinder a proper siting at close range. Yet, when the right eye had been taken out and the animal remained standing, seeing the animal in such a state set him to hasten a second shot without first removing the scope. Hence, a place just below the left eye was opened. Still, the animal, although protesting loudly, remained on all fours. To make matters worse, thinking it would surely take no more than one bullet to do the deed but to have another just in case, a third or fourth was a good one hundred yards back at the house.
No, they would prefer to do the pigs in private. However, in that the price for the freezer was very reasonable, some pork ribs and roasts from both the steer and elk would be coming our way.
I will chew carefully for shrapnel.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Of necessity
The small paintings are off to the framer and photos are being printed. There's an air of excitement blowing about in the cavern between my ears.
As is my usual course, I am thinking of one more piece for the exhibit, one of our senses, smell, called to be in the planned installation. I have an idea, but to tie the nose to language is an effort beyond the turning of a page, reading and listening. Not to mention taste in this most literal manner. Maybe two more to make, the latter called "To Each Their Own." Never mind this orifice, the mouth, is covered as audio; still, applying the same standard to nostrils eludes.
Likewise, coming up with titles that do not rely on puns has proven difficult.
One might then infer I have not been playing poker of late, it seemingly gone the way of discussing politics for neither cortisol or adrenalin a welcome surge with other mechanisms of physiology required. Besides, I cannot afford indulging my tight-weak tendencies, let alone passions of dogma.
Still, the dog must be walked, both animals fed, fruit trees pruned and that damn brush pile ashed.
The last holds promise as parts escape into the atmosphere.
As is my usual course, I am thinking of one more piece for the exhibit, one of our senses, smell, called to be in the planned installation. I have an idea, but to tie the nose to language is an effort beyond the turning of a page, reading and listening. Not to mention taste in this most literal manner. Maybe two more to make, the latter called "To Each Their Own." Never mind this orifice, the mouth, is covered as audio; still, applying the same standard to nostrils eludes.
Likewise, coming up with titles that do not rely on puns has proven difficult.
One might then infer I have not been playing poker of late, it seemingly gone the way of discussing politics for neither cortisol or adrenalin a welcome surge with other mechanisms of physiology required. Besides, I cannot afford indulging my tight-weak tendencies, let alone passions of dogma.
Still, the dog must be walked, both animals fed, fruit trees pruned and that damn brush pile ashed.
The last holds promise as parts escape into the atmosphere.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Back to it
I went out for one last walk on the beach this morning while the wife finished packing.
There's talk filled with the ruminations most of us have after a pleasant respite in a beautiful place. We imagine a life where we step out to this every day. Or at least something like this is a short drive away, preferably down a substantial grade lest we or everything we own gets swept away when one of those big faults off the coast finally lets go.
No, the mind does not rest on the idyllic too long. Especially when one does a search for properties for sale.
The memories will have to do.
And now we are home, although "home" is temporary as well, which keeps this particular dreamy location in our heads. How about if it was just a fifteen minute drive? A half hour? An hour? We are already pretty close at two hours.
Does it matter there is less sun on the coast than here on the farm? My bones say yes.
Sure is pretty though.
But then again, I like the Mediterranean too. And there's a nice little town west of Springfield, Illinois with nice lakeside property.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Winding down
Whether long I or short I winding, it matters little, for tomorrow it rains as we head back home after a few short days on the coast.
Today was a beautiful day, warmish and sunny, which encouraged a little more exploration than the last two days of fog and/or rain. Still, a nice time was had all three days when elements from home or the kennel did not interrupt.
I let none of it stop me from taking the photos I promised.
This is the remaining stump of what was supposedly a 700 year old Sitka Spruce. They lopped off a good portion of the upper part of the trunk (to the right in the picture) a few years ago after hurricane force winds took off the part of the tree with branches. The wife, at 5' 7" provides scale.
Merely the view from the deck of the place we are staying. I was trying to line up the top of the glass with the horizon. Didn't work.
What's a trip to the ocean without a photo of driftwood? I took this yesterday. I was out in the same area today playing with my colored flags when a young woman came up. We started talking about photo opportunities. She took out her phone to show me a very similar framing of the same root stump.
The sun's low arch at this time of the year makes photos on the north side of these rocks rather problematic.
So does the constant threat of fog.
Back to the winding or wind. The town north of where we are staying has considerably more hustle and bustle to it, especially the hustle when it comes to tourist's dollars. This shop was closed, yet I am not sure it is closed because it has gone out of business or because it is the off season. Still, it's for sale and full of kites. Any takers? Yes?
You might want to think again. What I took to be the front of the store is actually the back. The front faces a courtyard of other storefronts, many of which were also closed.
I will resist showing you the flag photos.
Today was a beautiful day, warmish and sunny, which encouraged a little more exploration than the last two days of fog and/or rain. Still, a nice time was had all three days when elements from home or the kennel did not interrupt.
I let none of it stop me from taking the photos I promised.
This is the remaining stump of what was supposedly a 700 year old Sitka Spruce. They lopped off a good portion of the upper part of the trunk (to the right in the picture) a few years ago after hurricane force winds took off the part of the tree with branches. The wife, at 5' 7" provides scale.
Merely the view from the deck of the place we are staying. I was trying to line up the top of the glass with the horizon. Didn't work.
What's a trip to the ocean without a photo of driftwood? I took this yesterday. I was out in the same area today playing with my colored flags when a young woman came up. We started talking about photo opportunities. She took out her phone to show me a very similar framing of the same root stump.
The sun's low arch at this time of the year makes photos on the north side of these rocks rather problematic.
So does the constant threat of fog.
Back to the winding or wind. The town north of where we are staying has considerably more hustle and bustle to it, especially the hustle when it comes to tourist's dollars. This shop was closed, yet I am not sure it is closed because it has gone out of business or because it is the off season. Still, it's for sale and full of kites. Any takers? Yes?
You might want to think again. What I took to be the front of the store is actually the back. The front faces a courtyard of other storefronts, many of which were also closed.
I will resist showing you the flag photos.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Reminders
Went to get an oil change today. It was a bit under the 3K miles recommended but the road trip tomorrow will take us well beyond and I'm still feeling out the new rig for bugs and would rather eliminate or reduce one potentiality than pull over while crossing the mountains and out of range of cell towers.
Still, I had my guy, Brian, give a quick look at the front end. I had a suspicion.
"Yeah, you've got a little extra wear on the inside of both front tires."
See? What'd I tell ya? I'll figure in an unscheduled road trip next week to take care of it and cross my fingers in the interim. "Not dire," I tell the wife, for I don't believe it is.
But that's not why I came here tonight, when I should be checking off items on the 50 item departure checklist. While Brian did his thing, I did a little of mine.
Think of it as a warm-up. And pray for a little sun when we get there.
You will note the third is a close-up of part of four. In fact, the order of shooting is reflected here. I felt fortunate to see the old strap and how it roughly marked the height of the dead weeds. Still, three was easy. Heck, one and two were as well. Maybe number two less so. But number four...
Four days on the beach is going to present me with all sorts of "picture-perfect" opportunities. Fine. But there has to be something more. After all, that's why I do this, to find that something more: The undefinable that somehow, despite itself, works.
I find myself thinking back to my childhood when my brother and I played in the woods for hours at a time doing nothing but exploring little spring-fed streams. We'd turn over rocks in the water just to see what was underneath.
Something like that.
Still, I had my guy, Brian, give a quick look at the front end. I had a suspicion.
"Yeah, you've got a little extra wear on the inside of both front tires."
See? What'd I tell ya? I'll figure in an unscheduled road trip next week to take care of it and cross my fingers in the interim. "Not dire," I tell the wife, for I don't believe it is.
But that's not why I came here tonight, when I should be checking off items on the 50 item departure checklist. While Brian did his thing, I did a little of mine.
Think of it as a warm-up. And pray for a little sun when we get there.
You will note the third is a close-up of part of four. In fact, the order of shooting is reflected here. I felt fortunate to see the old strap and how it roughly marked the height of the dead weeds. Still, three was easy. Heck, one and two were as well. Maybe number two less so. But number four...
Four days on the beach is going to present me with all sorts of "picture-perfect" opportunities. Fine. But there has to be something more. After all, that's why I do this, to find that something more: The undefinable that somehow, despite itself, works.
I find myself thinking back to my childhood when my brother and I played in the woods for hours at a time doing nothing but exploring little spring-fed streams. We'd turn over rocks in the water just to see what was underneath.
Something like that.
Monday, February 11, 2013
The plan was to burn the brush pile today. Hmmm, seems like I've mentioned such a plan in the recent past, although I know for certain that I have recounted the arranging of the brush to optimize the eventuality. It'll have to wait a bit longer, for word came down upon high that the algae in the pond could not wait, nor would the frogs before laying eggs. I certainly did not want to interfere with with their reproductive commingling, nor reduce my chances for simulation of the same, so I put on waders, retrieved a rake from the barn and set about pulling several hundred pounds of the green, filamentous slime (think angel hair pasta crossed with snot) from the floor and surface. This in a body of water that measures about 20' x 60' and is 2.5' at its deepest.
My back reminds me that such labor is too infrequent for me. The walk back to the house was reminiscent of days gone by when my gait was similarly influenced by twelve hours of labor instead of two. Still, there was also the same feeling of satisfaction when a job is done.
Well, it's never completely done. There's still a fair amount of algae remaining, which will hopefully give the frogs cover for their fertilized eggs when the mallards return to nest and graze the water's offerings. I have submerged some barley straw as well, for it is said to prevent an overgrowth of the offending plant as it decomposes. I will add more straw in July, maybe earlier if I do not get the desired results by April. We'll see.
But for now I'll rest. The wife and I are going away soon for a few days to take in some ocean breezes. If you don't hear from me between now and then, I will at the very least promise photos upon our return.
Most likely before I burn.
My back reminds me that such labor is too infrequent for me. The walk back to the house was reminiscent of days gone by when my gait was similarly influenced by twelve hours of labor instead of two. Still, there was also the same feeling of satisfaction when a job is done.
Well, it's never completely done. There's still a fair amount of algae remaining, which will hopefully give the frogs cover for their fertilized eggs when the mallards return to nest and graze the water's offerings. I have submerged some barley straw as well, for it is said to prevent an overgrowth of the offending plant as it decomposes. I will add more straw in July, maybe earlier if I do not get the desired results by April. We'll see.
But for now I'll rest. The wife and I are going away soon for a few days to take in some ocean breezes. If you don't hear from me between now and then, I will at the very least promise photos upon our return.
Most likely before I burn.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
In these times
I'm two days off of Tuesday. All day long I've worked under the impression that it is Sunday. Or, as the wife is kind enough to point out, five days off. Either way, not good if I am to keep tomorrow's appointments.
Why all of this discombobulation? Maybe it's a zen thing instead, every moment like the other and no more different than water or a wall. All one in the same while nothing as well.
Ah, the leisure class, dread and jubilation emotional cocktails in which the ice never melts, even in the heat of the moment. Too easy?
Banner day! Banner day indeed!
There was a time when we were just starting this journey, a group of us, some more diligent, some luckier, some with nurtured deficits. Still, we were in proximity and shared a certain age scheme of things, and thus came to know each other well.
Years passed. Distance chosen. No matter, for we were of the forever.
Had enough?
I love when old friends of prominence can help new friends achieve steps toward the same. The wife has a foreign phrase for it, this behind the scenes role I have been able to play. Honored, actually. And amazingly grateful for I have never in my life heard these words uttered to me before: "How can I ever repay you?"
Small wonder my head is spun.
Oh, it goes beyond this beautiful thing (to which I humbly responded, "There is no need." for it cost me nothing of this world) but I fear writing of it in detail — even if I do it in such a manner to avoid the SEO demigods — would cast a hex upon the whole matter. Yet I will make this promise now: Should you and I still be here in fifteen moons, and all comes about as has been spoken of in heretofore hushed tones, I will tell the tale.
In other and not wholly unrelated news, I am one small painting away from finishing a rather sizable configuration of twenty such paintings for my exhibit in March. I had intended on being finished the night before last with only sorting and arranging to be dome before heading off to the framers. However, the more I looked at them in potential combinations, it became apparent that a couple were flawed and needed refining touches and one was unsuitable in a manner that could not be changed. Its replacement is drying as I write.
I am just five weeks out from installation and as of tomorrow, everything will be post-production. Not counting tweaking. The opening will be on a Saturday, so rest assured friends, I will tell you all about it the next day. Damn the zen! I'm getting excited.
Addendum: As it turns out, hours count as much as days when tracking schedules. 1:30 is not the same at 12:30. Believe you me, my head's been examined plenty, but perhaps not in the way it needs.
Why all of this discombobulation? Maybe it's a zen thing instead, every moment like the other and no more different than water or a wall. All one in the same while nothing as well.
Ah, the leisure class, dread and jubilation emotional cocktails in which the ice never melts, even in the heat of the moment. Too easy?
Banner day! Banner day indeed!
There was a time when we were just starting this journey, a group of us, some more diligent, some luckier, some with nurtured deficits. Still, we were in proximity and shared a certain age scheme of things, and thus came to know each other well.
Years passed. Distance chosen. No matter, for we were of the forever.
Had enough?
I love when old friends of prominence can help new friends achieve steps toward the same. The wife has a foreign phrase for it, this behind the scenes role I have been able to play. Honored, actually. And amazingly grateful for I have never in my life heard these words uttered to me before: "How can I ever repay you?"
Small wonder my head is spun.
Oh, it goes beyond this beautiful thing (to which I humbly responded, "There is no need." for it cost me nothing of this world) but I fear writing of it in detail — even if I do it in such a manner to avoid the SEO demigods — would cast a hex upon the whole matter. Yet I will make this promise now: Should you and I still be here in fifteen moons, and all comes about as has been spoken of in heretofore hushed tones, I will tell the tale.
In other and not wholly unrelated news, I am one small painting away from finishing a rather sizable configuration of twenty such paintings for my exhibit in March. I had intended on being finished the night before last with only sorting and arranging to be dome before heading off to the framers. However, the more I looked at them in potential combinations, it became apparent that a couple were flawed and needed refining touches and one was unsuitable in a manner that could not be changed. Its replacement is drying as I write.
I am just five weeks out from installation and as of tomorrow, everything will be post-production. Not counting tweaking. The opening will be on a Saturday, so rest assured friends, I will tell you all about it the next day. Damn the zen! I'm getting excited.
Addendum: As it turns out, hours count as much as days when tracking schedules. 1:30 is not the same at 12:30. Believe you me, my head's been examined plenty, but perhaps not in the way it needs.
Monday, February 4, 2013
For the sake of clarity
The pond is full of algae. It's been a growing problem since we left the water running during the summer for the tadpoles to have a fighting chance to realize their frog-ness and so the birds have water in the dry summer. We've not had enough really cold weather to put ice on the water this year, which I suspect may be part of the problem. So it looks like I'm going to be putting on my old waders and raking out the slime and drowning some barley straw to prevent further growth.
The weather is cooperating this week with a minimum amount of precipitation so I thought I'd fulfill my side of the bargain with a token gesture of organizing the brush/burn pile. Not as easily said as done.
Late last fall we had a crew come in to take out some trees and shrubs, and clean up the much-neglected flower beds. The larger wood was bucked and is still waiting for me to come around with the truck to load it up. The smaller branches and plants went onto the burn pile. The flower beds were full of dead weeds and leaf mulch. The crew might have been a tad bit overzealous in their manicure, for when they were finished, everything was gone down to the dirt. That in itself isn't so bad because we planned on blowing in a couple inches of compost come spring; yet, what was an issue was all of that humus went onto the burn pile as well.
Observant readers with good memories might remember that late autumn was not a good time for me. It took everything I had just to go out to speak with the supervisor, and at the end of the day walk the dog and have a look around. I never did make it out to the pile on those days, so I had no idea until it was too late. Everything went on the burn pile.
I picked out as much humus as I could today with the front end loader. The rest I tried to strategically spread throughout the wood. No, it wont burn, but perhaps the heat will sterilize it so weeds don't start coming up in it. What I could retrieve went onto an old compost pile. I could now use about forty yards of urine and manure-soaked straw to get that pile cooking. I'll put a good spin on it and consider it our ceremonial last compost pile before pulling up stakes. Or one more overgrown pile of dirt for which I'll have to figure out something else.
Looking back, knowing that I couldn't be more hands on in the clean-up, I might have been a little more precise with my instructions of where to put what. On the other hand, a little common sense or, if necessary, thinking things through on their end and asking for clarification would not have been unreasonable either. As it now stands, there is still the potential that we will have exchanged one mess for another. And this time with a workforce of one with a tractor.
When it comes right down to it, miscommunication is pretty much a given. The simplest exchange between two people gets shunted through a myriad of unseen filters, and some of the finest ones go unrecognized within the recipients of the information themselves. It's probably happened twelve times for all of us in this seemingly straightforward post, and this with the benefit of editing!
The above paragraph pretty much sums up my recent mantra. Yes, those waters, dear friends. While it might first seem to be rather fatalistic, I see latitude and freedom, but not without responsibility, and always with a purpose; although "purposeful" may be more appropriate, for as it goes with listening, all manner of motivations may too escape me at the time. Mistakes will be made. So be it.
"At what price?" you might ask. If I thought about that, I would do/say/write/make nothing.
yet still
The weather is cooperating this week with a minimum amount of precipitation so I thought I'd fulfill my side of the bargain with a token gesture of organizing the brush/burn pile. Not as easily said as done.
Late last fall we had a crew come in to take out some trees and shrubs, and clean up the much-neglected flower beds. The larger wood was bucked and is still waiting for me to come around with the truck to load it up. The smaller branches and plants went onto the burn pile. The flower beds were full of dead weeds and leaf mulch. The crew might have been a tad bit overzealous in their manicure, for when they were finished, everything was gone down to the dirt. That in itself isn't so bad because we planned on blowing in a couple inches of compost come spring; yet, what was an issue was all of that humus went onto the burn pile as well.
Observant readers with good memories might remember that late autumn was not a good time for me. It took everything I had just to go out to speak with the supervisor, and at the end of the day walk the dog and have a look around. I never did make it out to the pile on those days, so I had no idea until it was too late. Everything went on the burn pile.
I picked out as much humus as I could today with the front end loader. The rest I tried to strategically spread throughout the wood. No, it wont burn, but perhaps the heat will sterilize it so weeds don't start coming up in it. What I could retrieve went onto an old compost pile. I could now use about forty yards of urine and manure-soaked straw to get that pile cooking. I'll put a good spin on it and consider it our ceremonial last compost pile before pulling up stakes. Or one more overgrown pile of dirt for which I'll have to figure out something else.
Looking back, knowing that I couldn't be more hands on in the clean-up, I might have been a little more precise with my instructions of where to put what. On the other hand, a little common sense or, if necessary, thinking things through on their end and asking for clarification would not have been unreasonable either. As it now stands, there is still the potential that we will have exchanged one mess for another. And this time with a workforce of one with a tractor.
When it comes right down to it, miscommunication is pretty much a given. The simplest exchange between two people gets shunted through a myriad of unseen filters, and some of the finest ones go unrecognized within the recipients of the information themselves. It's probably happened twelve times for all of us in this seemingly straightforward post, and this with the benefit of editing!
The above paragraph pretty much sums up my recent mantra. Yes, those waters, dear friends. While it might first seem to be rather fatalistic, I see latitude and freedom, but not without responsibility, and always with a purpose; although "purposeful" may be more appropriate, for as it goes with listening, all manner of motivations may too escape me at the time. Mistakes will be made. So be it.
"At what price?" you might ask. If I thought about that, I would do/say/write/make nothing.
yet still
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Excuse me
Hello?
Oh, are you watching the Super Bowl? Well, I have a quick question. Have a minute?
No, I didn't, but I thought about it.
I ain't. And if 36 is sitting at a table somewhere right now, I hope he's taking my advice and not watching either. Mind the chips, sir.
Not meaning to seem smug. Just don't much care for the game. Sumo and high school wrestling, yes, and somewhat happy that finding it to watch is a chore, so I don't. Not anymore, anyway.
Very similar to the '85 Bears. That would be the last time.
I did go to a Super Bowl party once after that. Maybe 2002. Put money on squares and won the final score, the big one, like $210 bucks or around there. Can't really remember as I was drinking hard downstairs where the entertainment was not masculine. Didn't see a single moment of the game and took some joy in that. However, not smugly so, I don't think. Like I said...
Gave half of it to a young woman who had been hoping to win in order to help pay her rent. Never got her name. See? Soft touch.
Did try calling my Mom at her sister's. No answer, my aunt's boys being who they are on this day. Even I know the rules and a bad call when I see one.
So, I just thought I'd stop by. Food looks good. We're having nachos, but much later.
Ah, the '85 Bears....
Oh, are you watching the Super Bowl? Well, I have a quick question. Have a minute?
No, I didn't, but I thought about it.
I ain't. And if 36 is sitting at a table somewhere right now, I hope he's taking my advice and not watching either. Mind the chips, sir.
Not meaning to seem smug. Just don't much care for the game. Sumo and high school wrestling, yes, and somewhat happy that finding it to watch is a chore, so I don't. Not anymore, anyway.
Very similar to the '85 Bears. That would be the last time.
I did go to a Super Bowl party once after that. Maybe 2002. Put money on squares and won the final score, the big one, like $210 bucks or around there. Can't really remember as I was drinking hard downstairs where the entertainment was not masculine. Didn't see a single moment of the game and took some joy in that. However, not smugly so, I don't think. Like I said...
Gave half of it to a young woman who had been hoping to win in order to help pay her rent. Never got her name. See? Soft touch.
Did try calling my Mom at her sister's. No answer, my aunt's boys being who they are on this day. Even I know the rules and a bad call when I see one.
So, I just thought I'd stop by. Food looks good. We're having nachos, but much later.
Ah, the '85 Bears....
Rites
This is the fifth year I have had the leisure to mention the frogs, a few weeks now into their song, first one calling to come from the mud or underneath clumps of dead grass further out to the pond. Gather, for the green algae has sufficiently billowed and the ducks have yet to arrive. So I imagine their content.
They stop when I open the door for the dog's last pee of the night. Having finally blocked out their ruckus, the neighbor to the east startles from his sleep.
The fog is coming up from the valley. The dog pauses at the top of the steps as she always does, checking the air as I scan with the flashlight for retinas. Droplets in the air reflect back. Far to the south coyotes celebrate the first night of lambing season.
The wife is still feeding a feral cat now hold up in the barn. It is sick, loose shit all over the floor but still too quick for me to get a clean shot. There is an irony here that I need not belabor.
Despite myself, winter slowly leaves my veins. I could use a good fuck.
They stop when I open the door for the dog's last pee of the night. Having finally blocked out their ruckus, the neighbor to the east startles from his sleep.
The fog is coming up from the valley. The dog pauses at the top of the steps as she always does, checking the air as I scan with the flashlight for retinas. Droplets in the air reflect back. Far to the south coyotes celebrate the first night of lambing season.
The wife is still feeding a feral cat now hold up in the barn. It is sick, loose shit all over the floor but still too quick for me to get a clean shot. There is an irony here that I need not belabor.
Despite myself, winter slowly leaves my veins. I could use a good fuck.
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