Times are changing. The megaphone blast of the morning prayers are now bits of sound overheard from a passing cell phone conversation. The once ignored demands of you and farenji and money can now affect my temperament, whereas before I would glide over them like skates on ice. Some parts of passing conversation are understood when before I felt like Charlie Brown listening to his mother's muted jazz legs.
I made a list yesterday. I haven't felt the gumption to attempt such a feat yet. An inner gasp steams through my lips and my body shudders with surprise. Has this poor pilgrim penchant for progress? If you point your bow and arrow slightly down from the bull's eye, your target will be true. I might even be overwhelmed with work soon, as my tentacles have been grasping at multiple projects since I arrived.
This morning I awoke at 5am. The reading by candlelight routine is beginning to crook my body as I angle arms, neck, and back towards candlelight. If you were to look at me in my act of absorbment, you would think me a mad scientist on the eve of invention. Therefore I have decided to go to sleep and awake early to limit the crooking of bones. It is a good morning, this.
On a stroll the other day, I remarked to a seller of produce, my what big oranges you have. These boulders of oranges turned out to be grapefruit. So lately in the morning I have fresh grapefruit and the remaining gulps of juiced nectar. It has its foundation in nostalgic breakfasts of yore. This morning I decided to try a new concoction that is written in this Buddhist cookbook of mine. The recommendation is to split the grapefruit, cut out the triangles. Preheat an oven (in my case a precariously balanced lid top on tiny jalapeno cans inside of a large metal pot) and then add a spoonful of sugar to the center of each. Even Mary Poppins would take pride in this.
But of course we all take the good with the bad. The parable's display of sheep in the Bible doesn't mention how they are quite fond of gardens. Today I discovered that one of the neighbors in my compound had let their sheep off its rope. My neighbors have talked about my garden and they are quite aware of its existence and yet I look at my window to see why the sheep is bleating every five seconds and realize that it is running around free. As I turned slow-motion to my garden in horror, my gut wrenched. All that freaking work and now most of my plants are ruined. At least it left the Eggplant, Beans, and Celery. I have to admit that I burst with anger. I had to confine myself to my house for an hour listening to classical music while I steamed like a ... like a ... it's too sore a subject. Should I go back and change the title of this posting to "A Spoonful of Vinegar"? It's only a garden I tell myself. It's not like I need it to feed myself. I'll go and pick up some more grapefruits later today.
Erica and Emily need to read this....
Sugar and Grapefruit
Garden gets destroyed
Classical music to calm your rage
classic.
Posted by: debark dave | July 31, 2009 at 09:59 AM
oh jon!! so sorry about your garden!! do you need me to send you more seeds??
is there anyway you can create makeshift chicken wire to prevent it from happening again??
Posted by: libby! | July 31, 2009 at 01:40 PM
Ad Libby,
No need to send more seeds. The bounty of vegetables this season will just be minimized. Next season will be better.
Posted by: Jon | August 07, 2009 at 12:36 AM