Mulch Madness

I look at this picture:

ImageAnd I can feel the black flies beginning to hatch.  I can feel them in my ears and over my eyes.  But in the meantime, there’s this snow.  It will melt eventually and then it will run down the dirt road, and it will take the dirt road along with it as it moves toward the streams the rivers and inexorably to the sea.  In the meantime it will thaw and freeze a few more times, making little icy eddies.

Happily I’m not with these piles of snow.  I’m in Washington where finally the sun has emerged and with it the lumbering landscaping trucks whose cabs are full of Latinos in various states of legality but ready to work hard all day and whose beds are weighed down by the tons of mulch that will soon cover every available inch of ground in my neighborhood that’s not either grass or pavement.  Soon the grass will be sprayed with poison – some, like our neighbors’, has already undergone this cleansing process – so that no foreign elements interfere with the tall, thin blades that are welcome here.

Meanwhile my “lawn” is full of foreign elements, like my thinking, which when expressed tends to be considered weird, or dangerous, or hateful or angry or not happy when happiness is a choice.

I’m still mad about the happiness being a choice thing, uttered years ago by somebody unhappy with my assertion that the message board was like a sixth grade classroom where the good girls waved their hands with the right answers and were rewarded by smiles from the cute teacher.  Also, I still think his thighs are cute.  Nobody else admitted to thinking that.  And I still think the whole puppycam thing would make a great book.  It would be either a raucous novel or a learned but helter-skelter take on the cult aspects, the willful obliviousness, the toggling personality of the leader, the desire for anonymity and praise at the same time, the Frank Sinatra citation, and of course the classroom atmosphere, the competition to find the woman most sensitive to dog and privacy issues.

But anyway, now I’ve made them mad on FB by mentioning assault and battery on humans when they wanted to get off on Michael Vick and his hideous dogfighting operation.  I need to learn to shut it.  Cover every available inch of ground with anonymous brown stuff, the mulch in the conversation.  I should learn to be more like mulch.


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