9.5 hours of honest work, then 20 seconds of play
Neighbor Peter A. needed some garden clean-up, and I needed some cash. The rainy spring has made everyone’s garden over-lush, with thick damp piles of the winter leaf build-up. I said I’d be over at eight a.m. Ouch.
I got there on time, well fed, but brought no lunch. This will matter at the end of the day.
I didn’t stop until my dirt-encrusted wristwatch said 5:30. I’d begun a in drizzle, and finished in bright sun. It felt like the entire year’s weather spectrum played out over my stooped form in that wonderful garden.
Hundreds of snipping movements, thousands of bare-handed yanking–to the point of blisters on my pointer fingers. I lost a tool and had to plow through sacks of leaves to find it again. Later, I lost a glove, and luckily found it-it was Peter’s. Lost for a second time the same tool ( a weeding awl, or something) Then: found a tool (claw headed cultivator) that Peter or his wife lost last year in the ivy. Must develop a method not to lose stuff. A Placement Protocol, or a simple “method”.
Methodical. This is a word that resonates the way “Everest” does to hiking enthusiasts. The unattainable, unknowable pinnacle. The place where Charlie’s got a permanent little hut, right on top of Mount Methodical.
Right. So I raked, chopped, snipped, stepped back and was appalled. Resumed. Decided that the gardener is an artist, and she gets to decide that a neat, topiary-like rounded hedge is too formal for this excellent hillside abode with its gasp inducing view of Mount Tam. No, things need to look more natural here. Under all the azalea shrubs, a hundred baby live oaks sprouted this winter. I pulled them up ruthlessly.
An orange cat looked on half interested. Flirted with me.
One thing about my personality is: flitting about, never completely finishing a task. If there were a surveillance camera in that garden, the watcher would definitely wonder what the hell I was doing bouncing between raking, weeding, clipping, etc. When twas time to actually sweep up the mess, I nearly couldn’t do it; I hate when fun things are over.
This might be a clue into my personality. Must mull.
Then rolled home, after I really did sweep up, and said goodbye to the lonely cat.
Arrived home too tired to make food. Guzzled a quart of (found) chocomilk, which fully reconstituted me, enough to check out the ‘Gold Sprints’ (or is it Goal sprints?) down in San Rafael. Even had a chapeau-rhone (Josh Thayer) to accompany me on the unremarkable, boring and very dangerous 3 miler to San Rafael. Today’s paper told of a mad motorist who purposely mowed down four separate cyclists…he wanted to kill cyclists in San Francisco. Luckily none died, but two are in critical condition.
At the venue (Mike’s Bikes) we got to wait about half an hour for the door to open. Reminded me of clubbing. Something I’ve never done, but I know that the line was half the fun, right?
Josh explained how the lawsuit at Craigslist, where he’s one of the upper level heavies, no, really. Not bragging, just the facts, anyway it’s apparently a crusade (political) on teh part of the Calif. Attorney General, to seem like he’s getting Something done. And since yes, there is such thing as child porn, and Craigslist is on the internet, the two have coincided (and Craig pursues the full extent of the law, every day sez Josh)…anyway the lawsuit is an unavoidable fact of being in a business big enough to garner the attention of the world. So all the resources, time and talent of that company is being drained triple time. They may decide that life is too short to mess with lawsuits, and sell the company.
This is of course just my speculation.
Ah the gold sprint– A fundraiser for MCBC: straddled a strange bike with tiny handlbar, get strapped in. Talked a shy-ish racer named Caitlin to try. We demo’d. Big fun, and my legs are toast. Rode home in a blissful sort of haze. Maybe I will spin madly for 20 seconds more often.
It felt like Actual Work.