Thursday, March 25, 2010
During times of uninspired desperation, household chores help. Oh, nothing drastic. Vacuuming? The hell you say; what next -- opening the fridge to peer in my vegetable crisper? (Vegetable crisper, by the way, is a misnomer. I’ve kept the same vegetables in mine for years, and they're still not crisp. Maybe once the Toyota mess is cleared up someone will look into this.)
In fact, I’ve reached the conclusion that life is too short for certain activities such as dusting, ironing, window washing -- those repetitive tasks that yield no lasting result. That wasn’t a rock Sisyphus tried to push up the hill, it was a Beissel.
No, I and my farmhands have been tending the crops, crops that actually agreed, grudgingly, to make an early-spring appearance. Of course, the ones in greatest abundance have no edible value – kale, swiss chard, and a few other poisonously bad tasting leaves. The beans and peas are ok I guess, but when I read the urban homesteaders describing the juicy sweetness of green pockets bursting with flavor … aw, come on, we know it’s just a fucking pea. It tastes of chlorophyll and dirt, not of ripe cheese or caviar.
But now I sound all grumpy don’t I? So forget it, you go have your splendor in the grass with your peas, get naked and frolic with your juicy sweetness in a meadow for all I care; it’s a free country. It’s a free country, and that’s just a pea. And I’m not going to wash my car, either.
Labels: urban homesteading