Experimenting with Roman numerals , day IV .

The weather here has been no surprise . People will say , “Gosh , this has been a crazy spring ,” or “It has certainly been a wet summer so far .” You know , every year it’s an odd spring , and every year summer is either hot and mugly right off the bat , or it is wet . The weather is the weather , and it’s always the same or it’s different .

The really funny thing about this year are the multi-cultural gnomes living in my garage .

I’ll explain : Usually by this time of the year I have my garage and backyard shed emptied out and cleaned from top to bottom . Dust , leaves , spiders , dislocated nuts and bolts , etcetera , etcetera and so forth . This year I don’t know what happened . Either the extremely wet weather or my abject laziness has kept me from my duties . I vote for the weather , because , damn it !, I’ve been working hard and I’m tired , and I really did need all of those afternoon naps , and all the extra rain had me mowing the lawn more often so every dry moment was used up by the mowing of said grass , and golly gee , can’t a guy just be lazy now and then ?

Stupid garage … the cars don’t care if the garage is dirty , do they ?
Anyway , I guess it was time to clean the garage out at least . The wife was out of town for a few days , and it’s not like I was going to have a party or invite over some dancing girls . I don’t know any dancing girls , and I’m down to only a half dozen beers in the fridge , and they’re about 6 months old . I’m saving them for a nice dry night off when I can start a fire out back and kick back to watch the embers glow and slowly get stoned on stale beer and not worry about dragging my butt out of bed at 4 in the morning to stumble into work . Time to make the donuts . Gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh . Kill me .

Clean the garage , right , OK . Maybe I should trim the shrubs first . No ! Clean the garage . It’s a pit ; you can’t even walk out to grab a can of pop any more without getting something wedged between your toes , or tracking dirt and cottonwood seeds into the kitchen . Cripes all mighty !

Forget the damned shrubs … forget the shed , leave the weeds alone for a couple days , what’ll they do , grow 6 inches over night and uproot the coreopsis ? Well , maybe …but forget it ; clean the garage !

Sure , it’s due . First thing is to move everything mobile out into the driveway . Then pick up all those boards and wood you were saving to re-floor the shed . Shift everything else to one side of the garage and sweep out the edges and corners , then grab the dust pan to collect the debris and chuck it all .

First thing I noticed was there was a big crack in the plastic dust bin that sat by the work bench . Probably because I was using it as a gauge to park my car . When I would drive into the garage , I would see the swimming noodle move the second my bumper made contact with the bin . At that point I would stop and switch off the engine . Sure beats running into the work bench .

Inside this dust bin were the following : A swimming noodle , 3 strands of Christmas lights , various screws , a bag of bird food ( put there because the chipmunks were getting to it on top of the workbench ) , and some Miracle Grow that had fallen off the work bench and caused everything in the bin to turn a faint shade of blue .

It was a motley collection of crap , it was . And because of the crack in the bin , now the chippies could get right into it and feast on the birdseed . And they did . And they chewed the swim noodle , and they nibbled the electric cords and licked the colors off of the bulbs , and they stuck the nuts and bolts into their cheeks and made goofy faces at each other , and all of it was coated with a thin film of chemical fertilizer so they ate that up , too .

You’d think it was enough to kill the poor little varmints , and it almost did . Man , I don’t relish the tummy aches they must have suffered . But they came out of it OK , and then went back for more . Don’t you know , they ate it , and hoarded it , and passed it on to their neighbor ground squirrels over a couple of three-day weekends until it was all gone . Then they went back to digging up my crocus bulbs and eating those .

Of course , the little creeps ended up having babies . They thought ‘why not , times are good ; there’s all this blue food laying about , so let’s have a peck of ‘lil ones .’
Good idea , bad execution .

Back to the garage . I‘m moving stuff around and sweeping and such , and I get down low to sweep under the workbench and hear this chattering and what sounds like cursing . You can always tell when someone is swearing , just by the tone , even if the words are in a different tongue . Chipmunks swear pretty damn good . These guys were letting me have it with both barrels . I was disturbing their dust . Geez . Anyway , I grabbed a flashlight and lit it up and pointed it under the bench . Holy … Unbelievable .

These guys were a furry , sparkly , cushiony conglomeration of raging , toothy , chipmunk-gnomes and they were living in my garage and building a miniature city out of spare hardware and stolen scraps . There were piles of empty soda cans that they were linking together with vacuum hose to build some kind of underworld sputnik station . I could smell the petrol they were collecting in a small vat , and a can of lawnmower oil was laying on its side . The things’ eyes were blue , like a native Arakin’s , and every hair on their body lit up like a fiber optic party lamp .

I would have seen more , but the whole bunch of them were brandishing the wrenches that I had lost earlier but never really missed because I didn’t actually have any use for wrenches .
Needless to say , I left them to their business and got along with mine . They can have that little portion of the garage , and I’ll be sure to keep mine clutter free for now on . I’m hoping that they finish up with their project and move out of my neat and clean garage . The neighbors , I’ve noticed are kind of slobs ; maybe their sloppy garage will be more appealing to the chipmunk-creatures that I have in my sloth created .

Last night I spread a trail of birdseed over there , and left the open bag inside the overhead door . Don’t tell .

Tree lust , Day III

I think I am going crazy . The first indication of moving over to the ‘slightly off’ side is talking to yourself . Usually , when I hear people talking to themselves , I pretend I don’t . They might be carrying a weapon , and probably wouldn’t think twice using it on whoever or whatever might answer them in their ‘state’ . So far I only talk to myself when I am really miffed , and then it is loudly talking and I am prone to throwing things , too . So I don’t believe I am totally crazy yet , just going there .
My craziness involves trees , which I am finding fascinating more and more every day . It started with wanting a tree in my backyard . Until I had a backyard of my own I could have cared less about having a tree around . Now I had to have one . I dug up a small maple , probably just a season or two old , and stuck it in my yard . Maples are really common ; everyone knows a maple when they see it -- for goodness sakes , its leaf is on the Canadian flag , it’s a hockey logo ! Wow , look at that maple !

So , now my maple is looming over my porch ; soon it will by looming over the second story and dropping whirligigs into my gutters and I’ll be swearing at the damnable maple tree ! Still , I love it and anticipate the shade it will lend to the sun-baked porch and the wind break it will provide through the long winter months .
But it’s a maple ! So what !
Now there is a cherry tree next to my driveway . It was in a five gallon tub when I bought it for ten bucks . Now , for the first time , it is bursting with ripe red cherries . It bloomed like a wild thing this spring . Really , I don’t care for anything cherry , except maybe cherry Kool-Aid , but the birds are happy . There is a different cherry tree behind the house ; it bloomed these great big blossoms , like roses in triplicate , but so far no cherries ; maybe it is an ornamental cherry and won’t have fruit . That’s fine … don’t like cherries

Then of course , there is the little birch tree ; it is growing slowly . And the red maple ; also slowly growing . And the two crab apples that came from the Arbor Day Association -- the only two trees of the ten they sent that have survived . They are fruiting this year and I am looking forward to biting into the miniature , tart little apples .
Still , they are all pretty mundane , everyday trees . Common . Not weird in any way whatsoever . I wasn’t impressed .
Wandering around a garden shop I spotted an odd tree . It wasn’t very well developed , but looked great on the tag … a weeping mulberry . Fantastic . I waited for a sale and pounced . After a couple years it has flourished and looks like a giant Cousin It , standing tall over my garden , crowding out the coreopsis and the mounded cranes bill geranium .

A little ash was growing by the front walk , under the burning bush . That was last fall . Now it’s about three feet tall and star of a new garden bed at the yards west end . In 4 or 5 years it will doubtless be littering my yard with a deluge of fall leaves . Where am I going to put all those stupid leaves ?
Ash trees are boring as well , fast growing , possibly a bad choice as they can be devastated by insects from the orient , but lovely … all trees are .

After surfing around the net I came across another strange little number , a corkscrew hazelnut , also called a Harry Lauder’s Walking Stick . This is a peculiar little number . It’s branches twist and curl around and in and out and around themselves quite curiously . And every year they do so all over again until eventually I imagine the thing will look like a giant optical illusion of branches that will cross your eyes permanently , unless you avert your gaze . Now it is shrub-like , but in time it will mature into a great , crazy behemoth of insane Halloweeny proportions . Can’t wait .


Of course I’ve seen more trees about and in the shops , and on the internet , that I covet . Take for example the Chinese dogwood , or the yellowwood tree . Also , the tulip poplar , with it’s softly shaded and perfect tulip-like spring blooms . Across the street are two awesome sweet gums , complete with their alienesque seed pods , sometimes called monkey balls , that will eventually mature and drop to the lawn and probably get stepped on by bare feet to cause surprised yelps . I want one ! I am running by them every few days on my way back from neighborhood jogs to monitor their progress … how long does it take to grow a sweet gum by seed ? An eternity , I suppose .
Now I have found another little thing growing in my yard , and I dug it up and moved it into an empty spot , a place once occupied by a dogwood bush that had started looking rather seedy -- like a tramp that thought to homestead next to the quaint brick walkway . Like a heartless landlord I evicted the poor sucker . The new renter is quiet , and unobtrusive . Sure , now he is , but in a couple years what will he be like ? I know nothing about this guy , don’t even know if he is really a tree , or just some shrubby thing , or maybe even a shiny weed ? Who knows ? Not me !

My wife says I’m crazy . I tell her there’s a little room over here , between the maple and cherry for a little specimen tree . She says , “You’re nuts .” She’s probably right .

Experimenting with Roman numerals , Day II

To quote : "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood." Mr . Rogers . I don't know if he said it first , but he made it famous .

Day II

There is an ancient tome on my bookshelf -- at least it looks impressive . Between the gold embossed covers lie unread a lot of print that may or may not be relevant ; my bet leans to ‘may not .’

Also in the weighty book is an envelope .

I’ll elaborate : In my home I have a collection of things -- mementos -- that I’ve saved to commemorate certain events . Everyone does this , mostly with snapshots ; I do it with scraps of paper , flower petals , random pebbles , let’s just say whatever is lying around at the moment of the momentous occasion.

On my nightstand sets my currant library book ; it is about jams and how to make jams and the ingredients that go into jams and also in there is a piece on syrups and the best maple trees to collect these syrups from . No , not really , I don’t even like jam . But there is a library book , probably science fiction , and stuffed between page 222 and 223 is an envelope and written on the envelope is the title of every book I’ve read for the past six years and because that list is pretty long inside of the envelope are pieces of paper that continue this list of read books up to the last book I read ( The Many Lives of Mountain Jack ) and sometimes if the book is obscure to me I will include the authors name , too ( Emilio , Bob , Randolph the 3rd ) .

Did you know that in Britain they will put the period ( stop ) inside of the parenthesis ?
That little bit of info aside , and getting back to the weighty tome and it’s envelope , every little piece of stuff that I’ve collected has a tie to my life . Some of these things are easy to decipher , and recognizable , like lists . Others , not so much . Under my bed is a shoebox ; on my closet shelf is a stack of notebooks ; in my garden is a footpath: all of these things contain a clue as to my whereabouts and activities for much of my life .

Here’s my problem : I’m getting older every day , and while I imagine my heart and lungs and other bits will continue on for the next 30 or 40 years , I’m sure my memory is surely , ever so slowly , failing and will beat most of the rest of me to the quick .

So what is all this stuff going to get me , I mean , already I don’t remember what this little multi-colored rock is supposed to signify ? This other one here , it’s whitish and smooth and tiny , is from the grass at Mt . Vernon : that event dates back to the 70’s . Here’s a little pebble , resembling actually a bit of gravel , that I stooped to pick up after stumbling over the finish of my first 10K . Among this menagerie of geology resides a sleek , flat , black rock I picked up along a stream while hiking and nearly loosed into the water , but I decided against it : I enjoyed that solitary walk in those woods ; I wish I remember where they were . And I wish I remember where I picked up this little multi-colored rock and what is it supposed to signify ?

I don’t so much like to collect stuff , even though I have my fair share of useless junk , as I do memories . Right now I can walk out my back door and onto the garden path and step over the bricks and onto a flat rock picked from a beach in Alabama and recollect exactly what transpired that afternoon ; there is a stone set into a wall that hails from Colorado ; here is an ancient paver dug out of a pile of refuse from a local hike . These I recognize and sometimes will stop to look at and think back upon . In twenty years will I know why that chiseled gray rock is set amongst the bricks ? Will I still live in this home ? Will the new residents care ? Will they have ripped up the garden and replaced it with boring grass ? Will I have plucked every memory from the grounds and hauled them along for the ride of the remainder of my life ?

You know , I think I might have some housecleaning to do …

Toodles .

Day I : Experimenting with Roman numerals .

Ha , just kidding .

So , this is my my first attempt at a blog : apologies in advance .

And , i have written a book ; it may not be very good , at least no agents or publishers seem interested ( perhaps because I am a lousy salesman ) ; thus far it has been previewed by some locals , that is personal folk -- as opposed to those unknown types -- and has received glorious ( they didn't say it sucked ) reviews .

I guess this space is an attempt at working on technique , along with mass wordage and punctuation experimentation -- i get off on long sentences -- and is mostly for fun , as it will doubtless get no readership : so what !

If however you do stumble across this , also check out my flickr page ; it is wicked-cool -- or at least it has some pictures of flowers and some buildings and stuff , too ...
http://flickr.com/photos/motman/2548314397/

Other than the book , i mess about with short stories and poetry ; most everything is on the strange side , and i have a fondness for worms . Check it out :

out of the dirt
like agony you dance
a fish out of water
contortionist worm
return to the earth
dive, push, thrive in the soil of your birth
complete the circle: beginning; end.

Or this , at least it sort of rhymes , even if it lacks conventional structure :

Take a picture of the worm! See it wriggle!
It delights, it excites, it entices glee!
To most the worm’s a blight,
Slimy to the touch; and squiggly.
But look at us, we love the thing:

it’s wiggly!

Don't expect many compelling political or social views ; plenty of other folk are better informed than me , and more willing to spread their sometimes inane views around ; not to say some ain't arguably intelligent , but most aren't as gifted as George Will , who loves baseball so he must be a genius besides . Go George !