Getting my house in order.That phrase boomeranged around my head a lot this last week as I gathered up drippy plums, raked leaves, scrubbed lots of shit (some of it truly shitty) and just generally got stuff done. After months and months of sun and lethargy, with just a sprinkling of ennui, I feel galvanized, full of alacrity. Adding to my new found energy was the subtraction of hooch. Again. I am an on-again-off-again-teetotaler and this is a good time to flick the switch to Off.
On Saturday, girly-man and The Broadcaster next door were doing their loud ass yard work, which was endurable because I figured it'll be the last until Spring. Last year they installed a flagstone path around their house and now they feel my pain of having to pull out every damn thing that wants to grow in between. Their solution, which I kind of like, is to burn it off with this little propane hose unit. So, they were in the back and The Broadcaster later told me: we heard a sound, like rain. Which turned out to be one of the huge pampas plants in the front going up in flames. I have a propensity to move next door to fire. In my early 20s, I lived in a studio overlooking the freeway and the space between my building and the one next door was about eight feet. As I was languishing on my sofa one day I heard the sound of breaking glass and then could see the flames shoot out of the window right next to mine. Several years later, I lived in a nicer, converted house and my kitchen overlooked a wing of the modern apartment building next door and their pool. Spookily similar: glass breaking, flames shooting out. Both times I was none the worse for wear, other than a momentary freak out. Now that I live next to the Alzheimer's Hospice, there have been two fires there, not to mention numerous visits from the fire truck, but that's usually because someone fell down. Frankly, I think they were happy to arrive on my street to an actual fire and not some poor demented soul lying on the floor.
On Saturday, girly-man and The Broadcaster next door were doing their loud ass yard work, which was endurable because I figured it'll be the last until Spring. Last year they installed a flagstone path around their house and now they feel my pain of having to pull out every damn thing that wants to grow in between. Their solution, which I kind of like, is to burn it off with this little propane hose unit. So, they were in the back and The Broadcaster later told me: we heard a sound, like rain. Which turned out to be one of the huge pampas plants in the front going up in flames. I have a propensity to move next door to fire. In my early 20s, I lived in a studio overlooking the freeway and the space between my building and the one next door was about eight feet. As I was languishing on my sofa one day I heard the sound of breaking glass and then could see the flames shoot out of the window right next to mine. Several years later, I lived in a nicer, converted house and my kitchen overlooked a wing of the modern apartment building next door and their pool. Spookily similar: glass breaking, flames shooting out. Both times I was none the worse for wear, other than a momentary freak out. Now that I live next to the Alzheimer's Hospice, there have been two fires there, not to mention numerous visits from the fire truck, but that's usually because someone fell down. Frankly, I think they were happy to arrive on my street to an actual fire and not some poor demented soul lying on the floor.Ultimately, it was a selfish weekend, as I passed on volunteering for a phone bank and hauling up to Mt. Vernon to protest Glenn Beck getting the key to the city. But the bulk of my politics are personal at the moment, and I'm busy overthrowing the old regime.
And apropos of nothing, I love this.
1 comment:
The photo of Lulu in the "shadows" is wonderful.
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