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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