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April 25, 2006

Day 17: An Intervention, or perhaps Prozac , is necessary



One wonders what the gardener's own yard must look like. A barren wasteland of stubby shrubs and hacked-up trees? One tries not to envision it. One drinks a glass of wine the size of one's own head and mourns the loss of the pretty flowers.

Finally, I call Landlord Bob. "I love Francisco, but he needs medication."

The landlord said, "I'll see what I can do. He seems to be on a mission doesn't he?" and I agreed. Then I said, "Perhaps he's missed his calling as a lumberjack. Or butcher. Axe-weilding maniac?"

My landlord tells me, voice lowered, "My wife almost fainted when she saw the bouganvilla at the back of our house. It has about four leaves left on it."

Pause. Take a sip. It has become quite clear: Between myself and Ladlord Bob, neither of us has any balls. "Why are you and I such pushovers, Landlord Bob? Why do we let Francisco run our lives?"

"He's the one with the electric shears, that's my guess." Then we grumble, toast to nature in its bounty, with its amazing ability to grow back.

We hope.

Posted by laurie at April 25, 2006 12:26 PM