AS THOUGH OUR GARDEN

 29 of #100daychallenge

Fox, currently known as Otto Fox, thinks he is one magnificent critter as he sits on my desk in the window, the sun setting behind him. We are very excited to see the sun as LA is in the throes of early June Gloom, We even got rain yesterday, which I am sure was a pleasant treat for the garden. Speaking of which, I need to get out there and do a little gardening before dark.

Unbeknowst to me, Fox followed me to the door and whisked out as soon as I opened, the little shit. He didn't want out as much as he wanted to be near me. While I was trying to repot some succulents, he threw himself at my feet and rolled around. Yes, it was more cute than annoying. He cuts quite a figure in the jacaranda, what with the flowers being lavender and him being orange.

I tried writing some postcards tonight. Although the pandemic need not have curtailed communication in the writing and speaking worlds, somehow it did. There are several friends with whom I have regular telephonic conversations and those contacts slowed. I try to send cards for occasions only to find it an insurmountable burden to address and mail said paper salutations. I have a feeling I, and others, just curled up inside ourselves, kind of like under those desks during nuclear days, and waited for the shoes or the bombs and the bullshit to drop.

Having been sans Trump-in-the-face has maybe relaxed me too much. Where I was watching news for three or four hours a night, now I pay scant attention. I look at the NYT every day, peruse the news at The New Yorker and The Washington Post, but I am not informed. Did I use up all my attention during the last four years? I know it is not time to "lose interest" but maybe I need just a leeddle rest before I kick into vigilance and fury again.

The fact that it is light later and I can continue to work on projects is one reason I watch less news, but still.

Patrick drove me to pick up a table (not a good purchase) out to a town east of here called Norco yesterday. There is something about that name that is hard and contained, a town on the edge of civilization that they didn't want to waste any soft letters, too many vowels or syllables on. Not only is it horse country, but boy oh boy do they fucking hate Biden. We saw many Fuck Biden flags a-flying. Deep into enemy territory, we were glad the table was left in the driveway and we did not have to interact with the humans who sold it to me. They were at church, they had informed me.

The current dining room table is fixed, with no leaves for extension. I have no idea where it came from, but Shelly painted it and it looks okay. But when Eric and The Domineers come by to play, it is a little tight for them. The table I bought looks good from a distance, but is particle board and laminate, with wood legs. Plenty study, but I don't think I can refinish it or anything. I did spend a moment or two trying to sand it as Patrick thought there was wood under there, but just ended up with scratched laminate. Ya win some, ya lose some. I will have to keep shopping.

Cherry blossoms and jacaranda on their way in.

THE BEST OF IT

However carved up

or pared down we get,

we keep on making

the best of it as though

it doesn’t matter that

our acre’s down to

a square foot. As

though our garden

could be one bean

and we’d rejoice if

it flourishes, as

though one bean

could nourish us.

— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, Grove Press, New York, 2010