The Little Words Mean the Most

Mowing the parking lot

The big summer party approaches. And I mow the field with my rechargeable electric surfin' the mattocks. Space for 18 vehicles. Mostly Hondas. No Hummers. Then I get my car washed.

Dressing Simone

We always consult on her work and travel wardrobe. Some jewelry choices for the St. Mary's University gig.

Boots

Birch is the coconut palm of northern climes

Looks best when the trunk is bare.

I am not trying to hold on to life. End games. Don't care to leave anyone a widow. Yet. Lawn ornaments and hidden meanings. Ready to play bad chess with less-than-masters. Cuban Air market soars, driving down the price of fur and that scientifically-certified cold-weather remedy named a PINT of Guinness.

Hillary v. Bambi

I will explain.

I see a mocking smile face in the fawn dots. Ti'wch I reply: "...uck yew, Bambi!" You've heard of rotten eggs. But for the life of me have you SMELLED them? They are a key component in something called "Deer fence," an obnoxiously odorous spray. Applying it made me puke. Guaranteed to work.

iTunes-robics

My dance aerobics mix: Edwin Starr's War, remixed by King Britt [5:13]. Followed, if you need more, by Azul Ezell, Chris Duarte Group [8:01]. We mostly jump up and down. Irish step dancing without the wiggly toes. Drinking Jameson's helps. Finished off with a slow dance, fingers on patrol across my wife's back: Simon Keeper by the Cowboy Junkies. Then go blow something up.

Coleman's nose

Today, Al Franken (D-MN) took his place behind the U.S. Senate desk previously held by defeated Republican (and good loser) Norm Coleman. Alas, under the desk? Coleman's dried boogers. Years of them. One for every false smile he ever flashed. Looked like Mammoth Caves.

Bucket of Blood

Some movie. Only I have the real thing on my front stoop. A deer repellent (so it's billed). The base is dried blood. Mix it with warm water in a pail. Makes a brown-red slurry. Whisk it until you get the lumps out. Spray.

It smells. Like the packaging a steak comes in. Deer, being veggie (theory goes), turn their rapacious mouths away in disgust. [Expletive imagined], I hope so. A doe and her two bambi's roam our property. They invade the perennial beds each night now.

The flowers are just starting their display. The leaves are tender. Buds bursting. The deer rip through this bounty like paper shredders. And the things they didn't eat last year, like sedum? This year they are. With salt and a little dressing.

And so I spray blood. The beds have a month to recover before the party.

Saturday morning follies

Simone washes three kinds of lettuce from the farmer's market. Slugs are a special nuisance this wet summer. She has me turn on the sink's garbage disposal. It begins chewing through her leafy discards. I happen to glance her way. With the tip of a steak knife, she's poking things down the disposal as it grinds.

"Are you [expletive deleted] nuts?!?" I jump to switch off the machine.

"What? I was being careful."

"There is no way you can call that being careful."