Tuesday Ramble

Patient:Sommers 11/06/57 Before and after cardioversion

You will have to excuse me, I have had a mild case of literary laryngitis. The prognosis is quite sunny, I am assured, with a few brisk applications of shock treatment and a pinch of thorazine.

As many of you know I live on a california ranchette. This is my 28th year of the rural life and with each passing year, things around the place are looking crappier and crappier. A wise man once said "buy one acre or a hundred, and nothing in between" and I think the old sage had it right. We got the place painted last week (after a solid decade of gentle remonstration had turned into a persistent nag). I left all aesthetic and practical considerations to my partner and I must say that she handled it wonderfully and her vision was spot on.

The rural canyon that we once inhabited with its forgiving, hippie holdout, do it yourself attitude has morphed into orange county south, replete with a touch of Tuscan style stucco and tailored landscaping. I am an embarrassment to my community and forefathers. Its a really good thing I don't give a damn. Today I wrestled with the new weedeater. The neighbors all spray with Roundup but with my cancer history, I have chosen to forego it all together this incarnation. And the weeds are coming up faster than ever and draining my checkbook.

The horse died almost a year ago. It is strange to look at the lonely, forsaken corral. I had Jasper for 27 years, a polish arabian grandson of the great Abu Farwa, but dingier than a hoot owl. He just up and died one morning - rolled around and there was nothing I could do. And after a twice a day feeding routine for 27 years, it's like a big hole opens up in your life. But I'm too old to give another horse the attention he deserves. Had a goat once - annabelle - the horse would chase her around the pasture.

In a month or two the Santa Rosa plums will be ready. I love to stand under the tree and sample until I get the perfect bite with the perfect tart/sweet balance. You follow the birds - they are a lot better at it than we are.

I need a truck so that I can haul off those artifacts of life that hang around the homestead and never seem to find a place to go for decades. There are serious holes in my life that need to be tightened up. Both my wife and I are champions at stacking things and making big piles that never seem to disappear. I pretend that I could live a different way but something tells me that I get energy from chaos. Imagine that.

We don't really entertain at home. The house was constructed in 1970 by an old navy electrician. A practical man, but one not seduced by finery. Still have the original harvest gold carpet and the acoustic ceiling tiles, the avocado green appliances have all long ago died a natural death and given way to their stainless steel descendants. You never have enough closet space in a 1700' home. One of the rooms is so crammed with stuff that entry is impossible. The prehistoric side mounted toilet in the downstairs bedroom cracked many years ago and the part hasn't been manufactured for decades.

I don't think that iconoclasts like Leslie and I could handle normal cul de sac subdivision life. And it surely couldn't handle us. Maybe an apartment in New York or Paris... But the eccentric beats the hell out of the mundane.

I have made a fair amount of money over the years and guess I could have built a new house. A remodel is pointless - might as well tear it down. But I think we will probably amble by like we have always done - unless a really big ship/painting comes in. Because we have each other and our true friends and we really don't care all that much about anything else. (and the marriage might not stand a new house)