chex mix 2
March 11

Los Angeles

Ok, I'm skipping the last few months, but for a good reason, life's been fantastic. I've been working lots, both day and night jobs, the rugby team just had its second match (during a glorious weekend in San Francisco), been making new friends and getting good news from old friends, and while my office still looks like a rotor tiller test site, the rest of my house and garden is providing me with a pleasant environment. Sure, there's still the random brawls and gunshots outside, and as long as I live in Hollywood there always will be.

In gardening I'm being reminded again that the flip side of working for yourself and 'being your own boss' is that you actually have many bosses, sometimes more than one at a time. Case in point: at one large, beautiful site, there's boss number one, the guy who hired me, The Good Cop; then there's boss number two, his partner, the Bad Cop; and then there's boss number three, the houseboy, The Rookie.

I'm quickly brushing off my ambassadorial tools, especially my teflon coating, as I'll get told to the same thing three different ways, with varying forms of condescension. No problem really, I understand my bosses better than I've ever understood any of my other bosses in the past. I understand that everyone has different priorities, and when you add me, The Proletariat, I gotta wonder how the poor garden will go about finding its own therapist.

But when I'm on my knees yanking weeds (one of The Bosses actually felt the need to point out individual rogue plants) I'm grateful to be outdoors, so what if I have a t-shirt tied on my head like a do-rag, I'm outside, doing something I love, for people who aren't really bad, just vigilant, and why not, they've had their share of labor unready, those guys who shake their head saying 'yeah, yeah' and then go and do the thing they were told not to.

I'm not sitting in a semi-private cubicle under flourescent lights watching my inbox grow before my eyes, surrendering my precious hours to some soulless corporation. Life may not always be like this, I know, so I'm savoring every minute.

And when you've just pulled two hundred bucks from a half hour plow of a drug addled but tight 'partier' butt and it's not even nine thirty in the morning, life can't but help look rosy. I chalk it up to opening myself to the richness that is out flowing around the world, and letting some stick.

That's how I feel today, I made a good first impression with my new neighbor who is also an attorney and has a nervous, constantly yapping dog that will soon be beholden to some high pitched device that goes off when it barks. A stranger left a clump of some interesting succulent about to flower, my wilted All Heal sprang back to life, dinner tonight was simple and delicious. I'm soaring right now. Come on along.

What I'm reading: The Artist's Way, by Julia Cameron , and Natural Style for Gardens, by Francesca Greenoaks.
What song I can't get out of my head: 'We Haven't Turned Around', by Gomez.

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