So once upon a time there were church fairs. And at these church fairs, there was a pile of grab bags- bags you could purchase for a few dollars, that could contain.... anything! From a hand knit dishcloth to a churchlady-sewn pot holder, or pine needle sachet... to other wilder things you could imagine (temporary tattoos, the crown jewels of something-or-another-but-hopefully-not-Christ, or some nice soap). You just didn't know. And that was what was so exciting about grab bags. In fact, it was better not to open them and to enjoy the not knowing, because what six-year old gets excited about dishcloths and pot holders? Okay, there was also a possibility of hand-knit mittens.
What no one explained to me, was that adulthood is just a series of grab bags. Grab bags of low-grade terror. With many bags of mundanity, and an occasional grab bag of wonder tossed in, to keep us participating.
Last week was exceptionally mixed- I was leaving for vacation. Putting a continent between myself and my work. As I got on the midcoast bus in Searsport, looking forward to a winding route that would take me through fetching downtowns, I got a complimentary chocolate chip cookie from a 94 yr old gent who frequently takes the route.
"This is a sign of marvelous things to come." It was going to be an enchanted vacation! Free cookies!
Fast forward some hours later, as I am at a bookstore picking up books for travel- Lauren becomes aware via Ed, via Dave on Facebook that perhaps I ought to check in with Dave. While he'd been taking me to the bus, someone had broken in to our house.
Through this violation someone or someones likely did have an enchanting mental vacation via Dave's unused oxycodone prescription left over from his surgery. It was, thankfully, the only thing they took- except of course for our sense of security.
Other highlights from my vacation week grab bags:
-Gorgeous road trip up the PCH to San Simeon and tour of Hearst Castle
-Student back home break bones in face and totals her car in car accident
- Wine tour of some vineyards in the magical Santa Ynez Valley
- Dave's boat breaks down and he has to be towed in and spends a couple of days getting parts and fixing it.
- Absurd and awesomely slow-moving Santa Barbara Solstice Parade
- Pipe in house goes from drip leak to spraying leak
- Balmy weather and nice time at the SB Art Walk
- Well at home runs dry
- Science lecture at an Irish Pub!
- Dave clearly sick again, best case scenario Lyme Disease?
- Stacey and I take up playing marbles. And she hooks me on Deadwood.
I would like to think I have learned something from this, but in review I think perhaps the best thing would be *not* to leave Dave at home with only his own luck for company.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Saturday, June 9, 2012
The Landscape Wars: Forsythia vs. Rhododendron
The morning fog burned off by eight today, leaving the sky cloudless, clear- as clear as my mission. I had established my presence Thursday evening when, clippers in hand, I skirmished with the forsythia stalks that had invaded neutral airspace. It was a cut and run affair, not a pitched battle. I was between meetings, and only had time for a quick strike.
Today would be different. Today would be shock and awe.
Okay, not level 10 shock and awe. I am not yet chainsaw proficient: but I am getting to be bad-ass with a hand saw and clippers. So let's call it surprise and astonishment. Frankly, it is a more responsible approach to landscape peacekeeping. No gas-guzzling, no noise. Welcome to the 21st century, bitches.
It took a couple of hours of non-stop assault until I got to the border in dispute. On the slog in, I reinforced the boundary between the forsythia bush and the barn, don't need a future confrontation on that front. The delay wouldn't derail the campaign.
When I got to the primary front, even on first assessment things were pretty bad; the rhododendron had stood its ground, keeping formation tight, but the forsythia had established renegade settlements well beyond its territory, dropping in shooters from above.
That shit will not stand.
I don't care if its the bloody diamond jubilee for Elizabeth, and that forsythia was "discovered" during the reign of Queen Victoria. I won't be blinded by nostalgia for imperialism. Stay the fuck where you were planted, forsythia.
Now the rhododendron isn't an innocent here- it too has been building up arms and expanding its territory, in recent history it quietly annexed 1/3 of the bluestone walk, cutting off formal communication channels between the drive and the porch. There's still debate about what the proper course of action will be; appeasement and a rerouting of the walkway, or a more militant approach involving recovery.
Today's work was ultimately successful, though the carnage was... well, it's a free press. You can see the images for yourself. We got rid of the rotten branches, the extremists bent on expansion. We cleaned up and made light what was dark and choking. Am I sorry for the casualties? Yes. But will I also go to bed tonight knowing I made the front yard a more fair, free, and civilized space? Hell yes.
Today would be different. Today would be shock and awe.
Okay, not level 10 shock and awe. I am not yet chainsaw proficient: but I am getting to be bad-ass with a hand saw and clippers. So let's call it surprise and astonishment. Frankly, it is a more responsible approach to landscape peacekeeping. No gas-guzzling, no noise. Welcome to the 21st century, bitches.
It took a couple of hours of non-stop assault until I got to the border in dispute. On the slog in, I reinforced the boundary between the forsythia bush and the barn, don't need a future confrontation on that front. The delay wouldn't derail the campaign.
When I got to the primary front, even on first assessment things were pretty bad; the rhododendron had stood its ground, keeping formation tight, but the forsythia had established renegade settlements well beyond its territory, dropping in shooters from above.
That shit will not stand.
I don't care if its the bloody diamond jubilee for Elizabeth, and that forsythia was "discovered" during the reign of Queen Victoria. I won't be blinded by nostalgia for imperialism. Stay the fuck where you were planted, forsythia.
Now the rhododendron isn't an innocent here- it too has been building up arms and expanding its territory, in recent history it quietly annexed 1/3 of the bluestone walk, cutting off formal communication channels between the drive and the porch. There's still debate about what the proper course of action will be; appeasement and a rerouting of the walkway, or a more militant approach involving recovery.
Today's work was ultimately successful, though the carnage was... well, it's a free press. You can see the images for yourself. We got rid of the rotten branches, the extremists bent on expansion. We cleaned up and made light what was dark and choking. Am I sorry for the casualties? Yes. But will I also go to bed tonight knowing I made the front yard a more fair, free, and civilized space? Hell yes.
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