Three hours and four shirts later, the front of the house is greatly improved. I finally trimmed my weeds to more respectable shapes, I placed my pots in a more pleasant arrangement, I hewed, then push mowed the spat of grass between sidewalk and street. It was a day of maintenance. Come tomorrow, or whatever day next I decide to do plant things, I can skip right to dessert and repot my maples and avocados, pot more spiderlings, make soil, and lay the temporary bed where the northern yew once grew. It’s to be green ground cover to fix the soil and decorative pumpkins to fill the space.
It hasn’t been a good year for trees. Of the ten coniferous plugs and three Chinese willow seedlings I’d bought some years ago, only two and one remain respectively. All three yews were cut. The spruce is likewise stump to reduced. Between my neglect, others’ interference, and the natural attrition of the unaided young, my land has greatly deforested. This is a large part of why I must be prompted to pull weeds, why I don’t trim or cut until threatened with tickets (sometimes not even then). I worry over the loss of every green thing I see. I can’t help but neurotically compare the loss of a patch of weeds to the daily acres torn from the Amazon. I imagine my .015 acres of city land to be a sort of final bastion, land kept from destruction like the seed bank in Oslo. A place about which I can say “at least there’s that.” Unrealistic, but it is my way of thinking nonetheless.
It was a five shirt day. Before I began tending the front I went to kung fu for the first time this week. I’ve missed it and was happy to be back. I’ve discovered that the steroid prescribed to me for my gum has an additional effect of allowing me to breath. Such has inspired me to seek out the “survivorship clinic” I’d more or less forgotten about six months ago. School seemed more important than post chemo check-ups, which I suppose is another way of saying , school seemed more important than life. Perhaps not my wisest line of thinking. I’ve not been able to breathe properly for more than a decade, and while it’s excruciatingly frustrating I’ve mostly pushed the hope of improvement to the back of my mind. Today, moving through my class with ease, hope has sprung forward again. Given my history with Pandora’s final monstrosity let’s hope that forthcoming isn’t misguided.
While I worked outside, Mary worked on the first floor. That it took four hours for us to do two sections of Clark’s Folly should give you some idea of how terrible we are at cleaning and how much we’ve neglected it. Her progress is at least as visible as mine. Who knows, in another few sessions me might have the place clean enough for guests. Madness, I know.
No pictures today, my phone’s gone walk about.
No greater news to report, the only other doing of note being my further submissions for writing competitions. I suppose you could wish me luck on that, if you cared to.
Tomorrow: More cleaning, perhaps that planty dessert I mentioned. Pictures if my phone comes off of its sabbatical. Perhaps even an excerpt of the new piece on which I’m working. It’s coming together well and I’m excited to get back to work on it and see where it’s going. The Fortune Cookie Fridays are actually helping, if you can believe it.
All for now, thanks for reading (despite the lack of pictures).