Sunday, June 10, 2012

not Cormac





You come to pick me up, claim your disappointment. I had the entire day. Couldn't I be ready?

It's just this and that and that over there and I haven't done that and I need to be doing this and I don't have time.

You don't have time?

I know that sounds silly.

You don't have a job.

Well, I point my finger against your chest, tilt my head and look at you directly. That's not exactly true. I've got a job tonight. It's why we're going out, the reason for this date.

How much money do you make?

I'm building something.

Are those your only clothes?

It's the best I got. Plus, it's boasting badminton and a jug band. Should I get the patent leather out?

No. No, you shouldn't. Just get in the car.







You're running outta gas.


We're only going to Como.








We turn down a thin road, and you say, I don't think I've ever been here before.

You're gonna love it. You've seen it, pictures at least.

I remember.



There at last I watch. You socialize well. You've become this beacon, a home base, a center. I venture out only to do my job and there is a stand up bass and a fiddle. a mandolin and a guitar. Chairs set up on the lawn, they are under a tree. This is my shot. I've got to nail this. There are some people taking some of the most incredible photographs I've ever seen with an iPhone (see Google Plus). I got some meat for a camera and I am not doing what they are doing.

Play Freebird.
Why don't I just shut up?









Still. I am not. I suck for that, but it's not so bad because there is always room for improvement.

I refrained.







I start with them. go back again. It is Karen's Mom's forty first twenty ninth birthday. I try to catch her clogging. Karen, her Mom, another lady too. People in swings and chairs and a blanket on the ground.  The chickens, all seventy-five plus or minus way too many. I had asked Karen to please sedate them. She laughed.

They are a safe distance away.
Sorry, any bird lovers. I have a bird thang. I mean, I like it in the mornings when I can sit outside and hear them sing. They look all innocent swooping down for their worms. Still. Bird poop falls from the sky. They shit in the sky and then it rains down. I mean, not much. I'm not that scared. It's just the fact that they have the potential of mighty jet fighting crappers and I know nobody wants to go down like that.

Anyway, the chickens who I know don't fly but have beaks are at a safe distance. (we at least have to admit here that by mere quantity if those guys started talking they could take over Karen's farm and if I had seventy-five chickens in my yard I would be trapped inside my house)

But not Karen.


Bravest woman alive.

She loves this guy.

And this woman, too.

I was totally gonna drop the camera and clog. Ya' know, show 'em how, but dude, they knew.



Allie is there and so is Walker. Karen's new beau and the tax collector. Someone who is going to get my number and a whole lotta smiles. There is fried eggplant and green tomatoes from the garden. They picked raspberries and blackberries, grilled and smoked meats. A fresh, homemade, who did that, oh my gosh, a strawberry cake. Dad would love this.

Allie has made a request. She wants everyone to eat while sitting on the ground in her yard.

Dogs are party animals.






An hour later I find you sitting with some men. You have eaten, are fascinated by the place and are enjoying the talk. You amaze me, how comfortable you are. It's great to see you, glad you came home.









It's time to go.
Okay.



We tell Sharon, It was nice to meet you. Happy Birthday and pat her on the back.

Walking through the kitchen we let Karen know how nice it was. Thank you for the invite.

Send me a bill, she says.

We're going to Rolling Stone, I reply.








Today I am grateful for adventures that feel like Mt. Everest because I have been inside too long. Having something to write you feels like the peak. (no, I haven't climbed Mt. Everest but figure this is as close as I'm gonna get)







If this were a site you came to for movie recommendations I would write (in this very spot on this exact day) that you may enjoy Bill Cunningham New York. I love that guy. absolutely adore him.

This is great and won't cost you any money in case you don't have Netflix.



2 comments:

Karen said...

your photos are only outdone by your words. funny, wacky and all true. except now i'm scared the chickens just may take over the farm when i'm not looking.

thanks for spending time with us and bring slater man!

Shea Goff said...

the chickens? here's your solution. tell a group they are democrats and another they are republicans. they'll never even see you. ;)


I suspect that the Slater man is trying to figure out how to legally name you as his Mom. The boy is in love with your garden.


And hey, thanks for visiting the site. It's an honor.