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Fragment Plus
May. 23rd, 2010 10:03 pmThis is more Rachel McKibbens, just a piece of one of her things:
IV.
on our wedding day,
when I tell you "I do,"
it's because I do.
it's because you understand
how ten-thousand dollar apologies
still keep fathers worthless,
it's because my ribcage expands
every time I think of you,
it's for all the things
you see in me
and pretend
not to notice.
This is an update:
Work finished, in the rain, about noon today. If you want, you can do an experiment. Find a coffee table or something that comes up to just over your knee. Lean over so you can reach that height, the surface of the coffee table, between three and five feet away from you. Hold that pose.
For eight hours.
Several days in a row.
Keep those fingers out. Keep bent over like that.
Now get some cold rain to fall on those muscles for three hours.
Straighten up.
Yeah. There it is. Except my end is less boring, there's a lot of weird stuff that goes into it, including the skill of planting plants (which I didn't do that much) which is a soothing/boring similar-but-not-exactly-repetitive motion, the skill of breaking up rootballs and untangling plants (including 432 lysimachia plugs and several thousand impatiens planted 3/pot), the meditative exercise of spacing plants evenly but 'random looking', and most important, the creative/frantic what-goes-where design moment. Here's the thing: when you are creating the design for the bed, you have one big missing thing. It is either the knowledge of what exactly the plants will look like and what they will be (because you are pre-ordering a zillion plants from a wholesale nursery and they haven't been grown yet and there may be colour variation, crop failure, etc), or any flexibility in what you're getting (because you've gone in and got what they have in the numbers you need, and gotta make do with that). We were in situation number one-- where we were gonna mix some hot colours and reds, but the plants we got were soft rose-pinks and whites.
We did what we could with what we had.
The beds will either look stunning and avante-garde, really weird, or most likely both.
Now a normalish work shift can begin, though. Wednesday my boss is giving me the candy-cherry-on-top treat of going out to the greenhouse facility with him. Can't wait to see it.
Now I'm on a cooking binge. I made a massive amount of pasta/quinoa sauce tonight and some rhubarb/apple dessert. Tomorrow I'm making some pea soup for the photographer friend of mine I mentioned in a previous post, as a housewarmingy gift and cause those damn people don't cook enough and eat crap all the time. I figure spending $20 and making a potful of something isn't a bad investment. I'm currently ambivalent about making the stock from scratch-- I think I'll do it though.
For future reference: chickpeas, mexican-y spices, and nightshade-based things DO go all together. They DO. Unlikely as it seems, it worked. Remember that.
I had a nap this afternoon. I am tired again. Perhaps sleep is in order.
IV.
on our wedding day,
when I tell you "I do,"
it's because I do.
it's because you understand
how ten-thousand dollar apologies
still keep fathers worthless,
it's because my ribcage expands
every time I think of you,
it's for all the things
you see in me
and pretend
not to notice.
This is an update:
Work finished, in the rain, about noon today. If you want, you can do an experiment. Find a coffee table or something that comes up to just over your knee. Lean over so you can reach that height, the surface of the coffee table, between three and five feet away from you. Hold that pose.
For eight hours.
Several days in a row.
Keep those fingers out. Keep bent over like that.
Now get some cold rain to fall on those muscles for three hours.
Straighten up.
Yeah. There it is. Except my end is less boring, there's a lot of weird stuff that goes into it, including the skill of planting plants (which I didn't do that much) which is a soothing/boring similar-but-not-exactly-repetitive motion, the skill of breaking up rootballs and untangling plants (including 432 lysimachia plugs and several thousand impatiens planted 3/pot), the meditative exercise of spacing plants evenly but 'random looking', and most important, the creative/frantic what-goes-where design moment. Here's the thing: when you are creating the design for the bed, you have one big missing thing. It is either the knowledge of what exactly the plants will look like and what they will be (because you are pre-ordering a zillion plants from a wholesale nursery and they haven't been grown yet and there may be colour variation, crop failure, etc), or any flexibility in what you're getting (because you've gone in and got what they have in the numbers you need, and gotta make do with that). We were in situation number one-- where we were gonna mix some hot colours and reds, but the plants we got were soft rose-pinks and whites.
We did what we could with what we had.
The beds will either look stunning and avante-garde, really weird, or most likely both.
Now a normalish work shift can begin, though. Wednesday my boss is giving me the candy-cherry-on-top treat of going out to the greenhouse facility with him. Can't wait to see it.
Now I'm on a cooking binge. I made a massive amount of pasta/quinoa sauce tonight and some rhubarb/apple dessert. Tomorrow I'm making some pea soup for the photographer friend of mine I mentioned in a previous post, as a housewarmingy gift and cause those damn people don't cook enough and eat crap all the time. I figure spending $20 and making a potful of something isn't a bad investment. I'm currently ambivalent about making the stock from scratch-- I think I'll do it though.
For future reference: chickpeas, mexican-y spices, and nightshade-based things DO go all together. They DO. Unlikely as it seems, it worked. Remember that.
I had a nap this afternoon. I am tired again. Perhaps sleep is in order.
