Sunday, March 22, 2009

why my neighbors hate me now

Well, my front yard looks not unlike Berlin immediately after the fall of the Wall. Much to the joy of the neighborhood association (thank the gods there isn't one, or, if there is, nobody has asked me to join) I have spent the weekend building the kind of raised vegetable beds that can easily double as machine gun emplacements, should the zombie apocalypse decide to happen. The story is long and dull but to the point: I had free cinderblocks from when Adam tore down Annie's decaying shed. Then we went out looking for more free cinderblocks and hit the motherlode in the form of a giant pile behind the stockyard. A lady there said we could take all we wanted, nobody cared, and so yesterday we ferried cinderblocks back and forth until we had around a hundred. Or something, because math is not my strong point and neither is it Adams and we couldn't quite figure out how many were needed to build the bunkers, oops, vegetable beds. Therefore my lawn is covered with cinderblocks and my back hurts.

Today Adam and lovely Ruby, who has somehow suddenly become a Young Lady overnight after having been a Kid for so long, well, ever since she stopped being Danger Baby, anyway, arrived and mortared one full bed of cinderblocks together. Meanwhile, I chipped cement off some of the blocks, which is the kind of highly satisfying job that makes you think you need a harmonica, a straw hat and a striped jumpsuit. Then I raked leaves and wished I knew anything at all about pruning and all in all it was a lot of manual labor fun.

In the middle of all this, or anyway on Friday night, Jodi and Susan and I went over to Annies - soon her website will launch with accompanying launch party, watch for it - and then to the Admiral, which was as always fun and then last night we all went to the circus. The Runaway Circus to be precise, which was full of jugglers and acrobats, most of whom were women. I could wax lengthily on how this represents the kind of giant social shift that took place initially in the 70s and has grown to fruition now, but I won't, here. Buy me a beer and I will expound. Or promise not to, either or.

Then Susan and I drank some beers at my house and then today, after chipping blocks and raking leaves and all that kind of thing, in the middle of which I decided I was having a heart attack, except actually I think I pulled a muscle or something, seeing as how I'm not dead yet as far as I know, Charles had us over for dinner. Some of his neighbors came as well and they were very cool, also, always a bonus, the food was fantastic. There was beer and guitar playing and much laughter and now it is Sunday night; I'm home and that was my weekend.

I still have three dogs. You know there's something wrong with this picture. So come on, somebody needs a dog. This dog. Bonus: you can leave her with me if you travel. I went and looked at the lost dog flyers by Sunny Point and the little grocery and they are not Perdita. They are looking for a long haired dachsund, which is to say, pretty much the only dog breed who is not represented at all in Perdita's tangled, thick and lovely DNA. Free to good home! Perdita!

No comments: