Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2002-06-19 - 8:13 p.m.

Outdoor Activities

I'm done with the yardwork.

I hope that's clear. That I said I'm done with the yardwork, and not that the yardwork was done. You know, in case you should come by and walk in the courtyard and think, "DONE? This is IT? This is how it's SUPPOSED to look?"

Burned out. I have this huge plant in the front, a japonica something-or-other, and that sucker is way too healthy. Wayyyy too healthy. Takes over the yard. And it makes these giant leaves that dry up and drop off and they have these little hooky things so they don't hit the ground, they just drape over the other leaves and stems and turn brown and look like the tree is in the process of killing and eating its own brother. Also, it shades the kitchen window, which is sometimes good and sometimes not, but the other day I noticed I had bought a gardening saw quite a while ago with this plant in mind, so I was obligated to USE the thing so it wouldn't be just another tool purchased to avoid doing the actual work, you know. So I came and I sawed and I conquered today, and then I spent all the time unhooking the crunchy bits from the rest of the plant and throwing them onto the patio, and then breaking them up into plastic sacks so that no one will notice I am putting YARD WASTE in the dumpster (hello, Marge.)

Ha! I'm also illegally parked again, just to distract them. What yard waste?

I threw away a table umbrella, too. But that's nothing. I know people, who shall remain nameless even though this was years ago because the statute of condo limitations is too long, who enlisted help to throw an entire hot water heater into the dumpster in the dead of night to avoid having to find someone to take it to the county dump for me. Her.

So the yard. Okay. The yard is looking better; a relative term, unless you saw it yesterday. I'm still decorating with defunct appliances, but you kind of get used to it after a while. The trash compactor turned out to make a swell work table for the barbecue. And we still have too many children's toys scattered all over, but the lawn is more or less mowed, which is fine because it's only more or less lawn. Mowing, sawing, picking and crushing was all I had in me today.

We are Not Thinking about the back yard. The back yard is full of triffids.

I could carry still more stuff out to the dumpster, but I had this slight accident with the grease cup on the barbecue so I had to scrub my shorts in the sink and I put on pajama pants instead and since that kind of crosses off one thing I have to do before I go to bed, I would hate to get out of them and into jeans, thus undoing some of my forward progress. But if I go out in pajama pants, I just know I will arrive at the dumpster with my yard waste at the moment that Marge is writing out a parking violation notice for the Colt ten feet from me, and I just don't want to converse with Marge if I'm wearing drawstring pajama pants with tiny rosebuds on them.

I don't mind yard work. Somehow, it doesn't bother me that it never looks perfect, that it's never House Beautiful, that Martha Stewart might not find my use of broken compactors unique and creative. I just kind of like the process, a little here and a little there. I like discovering things; I found out today I still have bird feeder, although it had been quite eaten by the japonica was so enclosed and dark it would only be suitable for Black Widow Birds, if there are such things. I'll clean it and fill it, and then I'll look at it every day and think how nice it will look when I paint it, which I never will, but the thought will make me happy. I COULD paint the bird feeder. It could happen. I threw that old umbrella away, didn't I?

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