The Little Words Mean the Most

Yard this time of year

You want the story ... or the truth?

This time of evening in late summer last weekend

Jan said

"Ornamental fruit trees like these" she meant the dying one

"prefer shallow roots." ¶ "And," her Bob gently sighed, "you've over-mulched."

 

He shrugs as a courtesy ¶ I've always liked Jan's Bob. He's counted

the world's folly finger by finger, splinting each as it wagged at him.

Firing some off where bargain bullied vanity off court

how common that is. How often unjust ¶ OOOh, as the owl reports

 

Jan is my Sherlock. Bob among the calmest people I know

is her Holmes. A distressed mock [ fruit of some kind ] tree

in our backyard is the case here

at our confused and no longer confident fingertips

The wick-end sun paints

only the fresh tops of older trees surrounding us like

an imperial court, never pleased. Callow and judgmental.

 

"So!" [over-enthusiasm being a most flagrant, most distracting disguise]

"Jan!

"Why did this tree's leaves fail to prosper?"

 

Two trees grow two peacock strides apart. One's leaves are

clearly healthy. The other leaves look scrawny,

vitamin deprived, like French children in 1943. Half the size

they should be

 

Jan's a technically qualified ornamental tree expert. Before she retired,

she managed a good-sized landscaping business

that remains in business

 

Jan is also our personal matchmaker, Simone and me.

Jan plugged us in together pre online. Before OkCupid eHarmony

 

Stuck her fingers up skirts and trousers

and pushed us together like dolls. "Go to this art show.

Visit the shore and eat local seafood beside the crashing Atlantic.

Propose and wed in Providence police court."

 

Simone and I are one of a kind

so aren't we all so many fingers up our skirts and trousers.

I thought deep roots were better until I heard Jan

Now "I am an ornamental.

Shallow roots are just right for me. Maybe later."

 

 

3 great reasons we love our annual summer party

 

1.

 

Because it means at least once a year we have a chance to see and patter with some of our most favorite people on earth. People we work with, have worked with, grew up with, encountered and were improved by, admired, loved ... you know, people you really can't live without.

This was a good one. About 80% of those we NEED to see showed up (miss you, Nicole & Lar, Barbara & Tom AND friends Jim & Trish, Canadians, Australians):

Carol (birthday girl); Doris (guru and Gamm Theatre-mate); neighbors-near Jessica & Bart; neighbors even nearer, Kim and Steve; our long-lost bueno puppies, Greg and Laura; Jill and Ed; Barb and Peter, very good mixers; Marcia and her orbiting masterpieces, Hannah and Sophia; and the PERENNIAL PILLARS (thank gawd!): Paula and Al. Jim and Lisa. Jan and Bob. Claire and Pam. Terry and Connie. Jon and Gayle. Bruce Tillinghast. Newbiedoobiedos: Ashley and Amy.

There should be a Halloween party for couples. One comes as salt, the other as pepper.

 

2.

 

We clean the garage because we use the space for the party. Last year, escaping the rain. This year, for the iconic Raffle of Nonsense.

So, once a year in our two-car garage, we stage a live-action show called Spider-aggeddon. We love spiders. We admire spiders. We appreciate spiders for their super-abundant pest-control capabilities. And once a year we remove most of them from the garage. We sweep up webs. We go into corners. We remove spiders that have colonized our bicycles; sarcasm soon follows.

 

3.

 

It's ours. A party's a nice way to love someone else: assemble the energies.

 

 

The Summah Pahtay: Birthday girl, Carol Scott, far right, last photo; hats and masks provided

Simone skedaddled, leaving me with the 6-hour clean up

from our annual summer party. So I conducted a beer tasting as I worked.

Matilda is gorgeous and refined. Hoppy lives up to its promise, like you crashed a hops farm. But the worth-trying surprise was Summer Love from Victory, a champion brewer. It was created to go with summer eats like BBQ, hotdogs, cold salads ... and it is brilliantly transparent. At first, I thought, "This has no flavor at all!" Then I saw the sparkling truth. It is meant to mix and mix well. All are recommended.

Meet the new head of human resources

"Heck, I can afford it! I'll give $74.17 every month,

honoring the Declaration of Independence, what the hell." ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL, ratified on July 7, 1776 in Philadelphia, PA, by a bunch of ornery, already rich, trouble-making white guys who'd taken enlightenment acid and found a new idea. Not perfect. But very useful. True change. The battle of OUR times? Today's rich will pay anything to turn a concept — all men are created equal — into a commodity they can buy and sell.

I'm going to cover this political season in poetry

And I dedicate the works to Donald Trump. Because he's wonderful for my side. I kiss you, Donald. I kiss your half hair, Donald. Cheap kiss: I kiss your certitude, Donald. I subtract your article. I cannot say The Donald. I am in this torture center, craving release by Donald T.