Bring Me Your Huddled Masses (Friday, Bloody Friday)

Ryan's zucchini finally producing (though he insists on picking them small and bringing them in beaming). Another rush from of flowers from the roses. Newly planted Cleveland Sage shooting up new leaves (probably one of the best smelling plants in the California chaparral).

Up early today to wash dishes, get in a much-needed meditation, and get onto the blog before everyone in the house gets up. The temptation to be drawn into the LA Times has been averted, perhaps the calming energy from the meditation let me pull myself away.

Why is it so often we want to do what is easy after contemplating what is good, but harder? After all, when the easy is over, so many times we think, "Why didn't I do the other?"

It's probably the ease of those tasks that draws us to them.

I will head out into the garden again today, gently, as my back is still out - keeping me up for a good part of the night, but others, oh, the others, will already be heading home after standing in line for the 4am JCPenney post-Thanksgiving sale.

I'm going to try not to step on toes now, because a few people near and dear to my heart go once a year to shop on Black Friday when stores open their doors early and lure people through "loss leaders" or items marked below cost to generate a feeding frenzy.

And that's what it reminds me of, a feeding frenzy.

But not, sadly enough, for food to live on. It's for, once again, consumable goods that will be forgotten in years to come. The latest video game for the kids, the pair of earrings for the girlfriend, etc., etc. I do know people on strict budgets who use this day to try to make their Christmas lists fit their income, but it seems to me very backward. And that's probably not a surprise, considering what a contrarian I am.

When I was a kid Sears used to put out what they called their "Wish Book" which was full of toys, furniture, earrings, etc. Stuff people would hopefully wish for. I spent hours, I mean hours, looking at it until all the pages were dogeared from all that incessant, OCD-like turning.

I understand want, I am a victim or want, but in retrospect I realize how very wrong I was. Just as Jesus never stood in front of his apostles and told them which way to vote (the Son of God wasn't much into politics), I can't imagine Him telling Peter what to buy Paul for Hanukkah.

You'll hear no such advice from the Buddha, Mohamed, Moses, or really, the corner preacher.

Because it's of little importance in the scheme of things.

I agree with the expression Giving is More Important than Receiving, but it gets a little convoluted when you start making lists of all your Wants and handing it out to people. And, unlike the frontier woman who needs a new pot to cook her family's meals in or one nice dress to wear to church on Sunday, we're incredibly rich people, even if we're on a strict budget and trying to make ends meet.

I hate to inform the US of A, but a Wii system means little in the scheme of things. It can't educate, love, express gratitude, or even try to save the planet. It is an entertainment system, something that takes us out of our lives and distracts us a little while. Like alcohol without all the negative implications.

I'm not suggesting that everyone go home and write poetry to their loved ones this holiday season, because I too will be buying gifts just the same as you, but that seeing something like Black Friday is a portrait of how bad it all can get and hopefully will help remind ourselves that blatant consumerism can get incredibly obscene.

The reason the prophets didn't mention it, nor is it mentioned on the pulpit, is because it is a colossal lie, we think we need things that we don't because: we want to be more attractive; we want to be more entertained; we want to keep up with our friends, business associates, and neighbors...

Consumerism is a fact of our life, and I'm not going to change such a fact in my post for me or anyone reading, but I think what smarter people than us are saying is for us to shift our focus, to be thankful for what we already have and pass blessings on to those in real need.

I had trouble being thankful yesterday and I don't really know why, because I am so very, very, very blessed... but with an unsteady mind, many times it's hard to focus on those things that give you joy. I stepped outside the house, sat down on the steps and started to pick a few weeds from the garden, just alone, sitting under the toyon tree and doing nothing but picking.

A neighbor stopped by, Ryan came to see me, the sun shone on my face, I petted a dog, the day was warm, the house finches came by for food, and I was calm again. Not thankful yet, but calm.

I considered it the road to thankfulness, right here, in silence, and later, meeting with friends who had spent all day cooking so we could share a meal together.

There is your grace, there is that which holy people are speaking.

You may not know this, but the ads for many 4am post-Thanksgiving sales, if they are plain and not glossy paper, may be placed out in the garden, covered with fallen leaves, and used as mulch to deter unwanted weeds from popping up.

Which is where I am headed right now.



(photo byJef Poskanzer)

Please Don't Read!

Unless, like me, you are fascinated with other people's frustrations.

This is not a gardening entry, this is not a cooking entry (though it is on the eve of having 50 people over at my house for an early Thanksgiving feast, which we've done for 9 years), this is just one of those long, boring kvetches about other people who have no say in my life.

Wendy has a bag from this clever, and very expensive company, called lululemon which reads on the side: "Jealousy works exactly the opposite of the way you want it to," or something to that effect.

Well, I've been having what you'd call a jealous day. Maybe it comes on the top of working hard, being busy with the kids, prepping for this function, and having my back go out. Maybe it just was lurking underneath the whole time.

While listening to NPR's podcast of Driveway Moments today I heard a voice from the past talking. It was Mitch Hurwitz, maybe known by everyone else as the creator of Arrested Development, but to me he has more personal ties than that. While I was working for the production company, Witt-Thomas-Harris, he was the golden boy I watched rise to the top. Was he a bad guy, no, no certainly. But there is something to watching someone have it so good on paper (I believe he went to Harvard and had already started and sold the Boston cookie company Chipyard that he and his brother had started in their youth), go onto better things.

There is something about looking the part, acting the part, and becoming the part. And there is something to being a middle-class, not-going-anywhere-fast person who watches that ascension.

Not that I'm saying that I was the creepy guy who lurked in the shadows fixing computers, writing scripts late at night and hurtling darts at his picture. Exactly the opposite. He and I hung out, dated the same girl, and I had him look over my scripts, he being a fledgling writer on the fast track.

Now here's the odd thing, I did not want to stay in TV. After coming home one night at 5:30 in the morning after a long (and really crappy) script rewrite, my wife broke into tears saying she didn't want to live this way. She was right. I hated almost every show on TV and I was breaking my back to entertain people I thought had very low expectations.

So Mitch is one of those people you think about when approaching your high school reunion. That person you know has become wildly successful (Emmys, anyone? 7.5 million house, sir?) and you wonder why you have not.

I have a closer friend, who went onto produce movies, TV shows, and become a household name and left all the rest of us gasping for air at the end of his unanswered phone calls.

What is this jealousy? What is it we wanted so desperately out of life that we have trouble hearing other people's good fortune?

Maybe it was because we tried ourselves and failed. Which is partly what happened with me in TV. Failing and quitting. Regardless, it still feels bad when you hear that person and instead of an old flame, who brings back old feelings, this person brings in new feelings like, "What the hell went wrong in my life that's going so incredibly right with theirs?"

Bringing me back to the golden boy. Both of these friends were set up for it. Both are talent writers who worked endlessly to get their scripts to be as incredible as they could get them. One had a prominent father in the business, the other business acumen.

I tell myself, often, that the things that really matter in life, those items I hear time and again from everyone from Jesus to the man on the street, is family, God, and happiness. Sometimes they even let happiness drop off! (The Bible's full of unhappy souls doing God's work.)

And when I was in TV, I saw second and third marriages and some of the unhappiest (yet funniest) people I've ever met. If I was going to stay there, there'd be a good chance I'd sacrifice all that I now have. (My friend's wife told us a few years ago they've teetered on the brink of divorce many times.)

So what, Mr. Jealousy? What to do with you now?

I can't explain you away and I can't drink you under the table.

I'll have to sit with you awhile, the same way I did with Forgiveness when he wouldn't let me forgive someone I believe wronged me.

Ugh.

Double ugh.

Now aren't you glad you didn't read this?

Same Old Story?

Black zucchini finally starting to fruit. California poppies sticking their tufts out of the soil. Roses back in bloom (candy striped one blossoming as I haven't seen it flower in years).

You'll have to excuse me if you've heard this story before. Is my mind getting weak? I'm not sure. I'm getting older, this much I know....

But this, my friend, is the story of how I got rid of my gardener.

When Wendy and I moved into this house lo so many years ago, we fell in love with it because it had this beautiful wild garden out front. Okay, that's sort of a lie. Wendy knew I loved the outdoors and plants and figured I would love this place and gardening.

She was, as usual, right. What she didn't think of was that the garden would be a bit much to take care of by ourselves.

One of the previous owners was a landscape architect. At some point in the distant past he had decided to take out most of his broad front lawn (the house is on the corner, pushed all the way back to the lot) and put in an array of plants he'd apparently collected from some of his paying gigs from around town, as well as some I'm guessing he'd bought at the native plant place up in the valley.

This was all beautiful to look at, but when it came time to take care of it, I think both Wendy and I realized it'd be an enormous task to do ourselves. I come from Nebraska, but knew nothing about plants that weren't growing in the wild. I didn't even know anything about the grass I had to mow every summer as a kid except that we had to water it every once in awhile instead of going off and playing with our friends.

Wendy was worse off. Both her mother and grandmother are consummate plant people and Wendy could give a hoot.

So here we were standing in front 200 or so of our favorite plants wondering what the hell we were going to do about it.

Enter Javier, well-dressed (he also sold houses) with hands roughened by years of yard work, he introduced himself as the ex-owners' gardener. We struck a deal and were happy to have him on board.

It only took us a few months to discover he mowed the yard, blew the leaves around, and left.

They call it "Mow, Blow, and Go".

We, on the other hand, were expected to do the weeding, fertilizing, watering, and, essentially, everything else.

I cataloged plants, sweated over watering systems, memorized Latin names, and so much more. Those were the crazy, freewheeling days before children and after the bar scene.

Regardless, I realized as much as I did, I'd always need Javier for his extra four hours a week with a helper to get things in order. 8 man hours! What the hell kind of garden did I get myself into? Believe me, surrounded by silence, you get to ask that question to yourself many, many times.

Last summer (2006 that is) I was listening to my wife talk about her yoga teacher. Wendy said she'd heard the woman give this interesting piece of advice to her class:

"You come here once or twice a week, that's great. But what about the rest of your week? We hire gardeners, house cleaners, car washers, dog washers, and dry cleaners to do all the physical work that our bodies need. Your paying them to do the hard stuff then coming here to pay me so you can do the hard stuff."

Maybe she wasn't the best salesman for yoga, but she had an interesting point. And I was listening. On Saturdays Wendy works and I take care of the kids. This used to involve Thomas the Tank Engine track building, reading time, long walks trying to get them to sleep, and every other activity you could think of.

As soon as they grew older, though, I noticed I could be outside with them for a good 20 minutes before they started to complain. My older son, Ryan, could last an hour.

So when they turned 7 and 4 respectively, I decided to take the plunge. Instead of staying inside (where I am all week at work) and vacuuming, dusting, and cleaning the dishes, I decided I should be outside, taking care of my yard.

I made sure I had all the equipment I needed before I actually called and spoke to Javier. This was a task in itself. I scoured Craigslist for used bargains, which, it turned out were plenty. Mostly people who said something like this in their ad, "I wanted to do my own gardening, but it turns out I'm too lazy. Get this mower for cheap."

In my choice among mowers, it was easy, according to the Union for Concerned Scientists a gas-powered lawn mower "emits as much smog-forming pollution in one hour as eight new cars traveling at 55 miles per hour."

Probably didn't know that, did you? Neither did I.

So the choice came to electric lawn mowers. (I studied the high end Brill reel mowers, but I was cautioned that unless I was going to mow every week and never take a break, don't get one.) The Neuton mower, which is cordless, seemed like a good choice, but they were expensive at $400 (they're lower now). I did want to make sure if this whole thing didn't work out, I wouldn't be staring at $700 worth of lawn equipment rusting in my garage.

I finally decided on a used electric (corded) mulching mower. I figured I could:

1. Mow quietly
2. With less pollution
3. Mulch the lawn with clippings instead of fertilizing
   

In all of these, the mower scored big. The bonus? I don't know if you mow your own lawn, but I remember having to yank the hell out of that cord every time I wanted to start the dang thing up. And you had to restart it every time you wanted to empty the bag. The electric engine starts automatically and, best of all, if people are walking by you can stop it. Not idle. Stop it completely.

Now the fact that I have very little lawn and can reach the whole dang thing within the reach of two orange extension cords has to be taken into consideration here.

And that I had to learn how NOT to run over my own electrical cord while I was mowing. That is tantamount.

Plus, the guy who sold it to me threw in a Weed Whacker/Edger for free! Hard to beat a bargain like that, huh?

The first time I did the lawn (adding an electric blower into the mix from a woman who'd recently moved to an apartment and didn't need hers) it took hours and hours, but I did it.

I called Javier and told him the news, and told him he may be hearing from me very soon in the event this whole thing didn't work out.

Oh, it's late, and this story is just half way through.

Until next time....