corner view: change

Revelation from Obviousville. Change doesn't come about as a result of whining and wishful thoughts. Change requires action. The picture below is a result of six years of thinking that I didn't like my side garden and that I should do something about it. Three straggly spirea bushes and three burnt arborvitae. The orange paint is not really lines for the new garden design; it is a police outline of dead grass.

Now, after some inspiration (a trip to Charleston), three months of planning, and six hours of hard labor from sister and mother (and when I say "hard labor" I mean stinging-sweat-in-your-eyes type of hard labor), we have this result:

Lesson: Change happens through inspiration, planning, ACTION, and having an awesome support system.

Dear lazy sign writer,

Really? It was too much work to write an "o" to try to sell tailgte spots?

Dear half-assed,

Here's a house doin' you proud...

Given the full-assed smell of pot coming out its windows, this result doesn't surprise me at all.

Dear Indiana (Street),

You host my two favorite blocks in the city.

Reason #1: It begins with this overgrown, untouched "park" dedicated to a crazy mathematician/hermit. Have you ever seen a park more suited to its namesake?

"After losing his position as Professor of Mathematics at Rittenhouse Academy in Washington, D.C. for abolitionist sympathizing, Hugh Cameron eventually walked westward. Cameron arrived in Lawrence with the first party of settlers in August 1854. He served as justice of the peace and one time ran a ferry. He served in the Union Army during the Civil War. He returned to Lawrence and published a journal for the working man, but it failed. He became an eccentric who did not cut his hair from age 55, perhaps because of a failed romance. He walked to Washington, D.C. for every inaugural ceremony. In 1907 he moved from a hollowed out tree trunk at Cameron's Bluff to an elaborate tree house and cave he built at this site. Cameron died penniless in 1908 at his sister's home in Topeka." 

Reason #2: Jayhawk flamingos.

Reason #3: Not-so-ordinary house numbers.

 Reason #4: This is your backdoor neighbor (as opposed to, say, a member of an unimaginative garage band with Monday night rehearsals).

Reason #5:  And your backdoor neighbor's backdoor neighbor.

Reason #6: This lovely lady at the end of the street. When you look at the ages of the other houses surrounding her, you can tell that she was made by the third little pig with some serious masonry skills.

Reason #7: A little inspiration. Why not paint your garage door?

Dear sis,

This rock formation is older than you.

This wall is older than you.

This pot is [probably] older than you.

Gift for your birthday? A little perspective. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Dear neighbor boys,

You must be Eagle Scouts, because I've never seen a group so prepared for an early snowfall. You know that it is August, don't you?

Dear across-the-street neighbors, is that why your Christmas lights are up? Because you want to be prepared in case Christmas sneaks up on you? Oh, a-t-s neighbors, there must be thousands of Americans out there who hate you. You leave Christmas lights up (showing you probably don't give much attention to the upkeep of your house), you haven't weeded your garden in--I don't know?--ever?, your front sidewalk is crumbling, and yet you sold your house in under three months. Somehow I have a feeling the inside isn't perfectly staged either (unless staging entails moving the dirty dishes from the bedroom to the kitchen sink). At the very least it makes me feel pretty confident about our location ... or pretty concerned about price comparables on our street.

Dear would-be yard artists,

Some people can rock the blue-bottle tree.

And some people can't.

Dear park,

Your one little part of town looks like the Old World, and for that, I love you. And, though it is probably a result of budget cuts, I like the fact that there are no guard rails or concerns for safety about your crumbling walls.

However, I hate that I have to visit you for our not-mandatory-but-really-mandatory departmental picnic tonight.

Oh? And park? Your squirrels aren't acting strange because they have rabies, they are just terrorized by a fierce black-and-white hunter who stalks EVERY SINGLE ONE of them.

Dear neighbor,

Thanks for having such a pretty garden for me to admire on my walks. And your chocolate lab is adorable. I never see a wife. You wouldn't be single, would you? Of course, you wouldn't buy a house like that if you lived alone with your two dogs, so I'm sure that there's a wife. Maybe she has a terrible disease and can't leave? Or maybe she is horribly disfigured and only goes out at night? Do you only eat food that she orders online or buys at the 24-hour mini-mart? No wonder you spend so much time working on your garden. It must be hell inside those walls. I guess if I had a terribly disfigured spouse I would have a nicer looking garden, too. [And once again I am able to make it all about me.]

Dear neighbors,

I want to knock on some of your doors and become best friends with you. Here's why:

House #1: YEW are so clever!

House #2: You have a  Rastafarian tree in front of your uber-traditional house. I bet that you are fascinating.

House #3: You have done yellow and gray so much better than I have. Would you mind if I just took a quick tour inside your house?

Dear spirea,

Sorry. I really thought that putting suntan lotion on you would protect you from sunburn.

Dear summer, I still think that we're going to win the war, but man did you win this battle.
Dear Better Homes & Garden, whaddaya think? Ya wanna go ahead and crown me gardener of the year?
Dear dog, yes, I know that it is cruel to hold your leash and my camera in the same hand.

Dear crop feature,

I love you! You have made so many of my poorly-composed pictures look half-way decent. You have removed all traces of modern life from medieval castles. You have cut out annoying people in the background of shots. Here, you even took out the trash. So, crop feature, since you are so awesome, I was wondering if I could use you on my inner thighs? (Please get back to me soon, because I would hate to actually exercise if I don't have to.)

Dear balcony owner,

I envy your sprezzatura. [sprezzatura, from Baldassare Castiglione: “a certain nonchalance, so as to conceal all art and make whatever one does or says appear to be without effort and almost without any thought about it.”] If I tried going for this look, it would just end up looking like a mess. Of course, if I tried going for this look, it wouldn't embody the whole idea of sprezzatura, would it? I also can't pull off hats.

Dear grass,

Funny thing. If you were in my back yard you'd be cut down every week (ok, every month or so--I hate to mow the lawn). If you were in my gravel driveway you'd be poisoned, stomped on, peed on from dogs walking along the alleyway, and torn from your roots. But here you are showcased in a botanical garden as an exotic display. Hmm. Wonder which stalk of grass I am??

Dear succulents,

I'm thinking of changing your name to suck-u-don'ts.

Dear pirates,

There will always be a home (or two) for you in my neighborhood! You can bring Johnny Depp with you, if you want.

Dear simplicity,

You got overabundance beat.

Dear signs from the universe,

Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I bought ground turkey. It's one of those things that you are supposed to do to stay healthy, along with eating organics, lifting weights, cutting out sugar, running, drinking more water, etc. Naturally, since it seemed like the easiest thing to do on the list, I took the plunge.  Now, I'm all ready to substitute it for ground beef in all my recipes.

This morning, I see that there is one dead and 76 ill due to salmonella poisoning in ground turkey. Ok, I tried being healthy. Screw that.