Rake, lift, tote; rake, lift, tote; rake, lift, tote. I worked by butt off yesterday. I removed six full wheelbarrows of forest crap from the yard. I started at 7:00 am and there were no mosquitos.
Everything that grows in my yard—except my religiously watered plants—is dead or dying. All the Spring growth and months of pinecones covered ground that was desert dry.
At 9:30 Camen came to attend to the stink of my water. He said the overflowing means my well pump is overworking and that could be why I’m getting the sulfur smell in my water. It’s not unhealthy, however, but he peroxided the tank. I kept cleaning the yard while he worked and anyone who tells you I was having fantasies of seeing him in my hot tub in a teeny red Speedo is lying. It was a green with white stripes.
It didn’t take a break until 4:30 pm and then I was back at it. Pinecone Parklooks pretty great.
For hours every single day and night, the cats are in the loft. They play and sleep there in a jungle of cardboard boxes and the giant cat hotel I built for them (three levels; nine rooms). They have branches, string, fabric, crumpled paper and catnip up there—and a cat ladder for access. It’s their space alone and it gives me incredible joy to hear them up there in their private space.
Sheba has decided my bed is our bed. I don’t mind but I have to negotiate room all the time. She likes to sleep lying against me.
And today—finally—I’m getting back to work on the fence.
I’m Mr. Responsible: I prioritize yard, pet and home duties over pleasure activities like the fence. It’s the same when I’m doing projects: My home has to be in order before I can concentrate on writing or making things.
It’s like I have a fire inside me driving me onward. I rarely read now (I let my New Yorkersubscription run out) and even TV rarely engages me. I like being active. But now everything I want to do here is done. I’ve earned my right to play today and I think I can finish the three panels if I work diligently.
I met Sandy this morning. She’s my neighbour with the large wild lot and the rooster—well…rosters. She has five, and she is lovely. She got my letter telling her how much I loved her roosters, so it was a really nice meeting.