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Birthday week is officially over and my vacation has come to an end. It was such a lovely and idle week spent gardening and reading and writing a little. On Thursday evening late I trekked out to the shed with a flashlight in hand to find a string of lights for the porch. No festivity, birthday or otherwise is complete without lights. So on a very warm evening I strung them along top of the porch then sat and welcomed in Friday morning.
The neighborhood seems so different at night. Streetlamps lit the way for a few stray dogs; I could see their outlines slinking by like thieves and oh, they were. Once the twosome went by they were almost out of mind until I saw one running back the way he came with the neighbor's duck in his mouth. Our smallest dog sat on my lap, ears up, bewildered. That is how I brought in my birthday, my 46th, by stringing lights and watching canine crime unfold before my very eyes.
We had planned to go to lunch in Wimberley but we decided to plan our garden instead. By the weekend's close we had made four raised bed frames and pulled what seems like a mountain of weeds. The ground was perfect for weed pulling and still is; it's soft and wet after days of light rain. They come up with even the gentlest of coaxing. I don't know what it is about pulling weeds that is so therapeutic but it really is. Everything else melts away and the most important thing in that moment is to pull the weed from the ground by its very roots. Satisfaction through and through. And then to see the swath of weedless ground, that just adds to the pleasure.
My last little accomplishment was writing a post for Bruce Hollingdrake's Bookshop Blog. It was a good feeling to contribute though I don't know that I have a lot to say. I enjoy bookselling, wish I could support myself sooner than later, and I'm always curious about other bookseller's experiences so it seemed like a good venue for me. I'll do two posts a month and see what kind of response I get. He's very nice, Mr. Hollingdrake and I am glad that he's put together his blog as a gathering place for booksellers.
Now I must get ready for work, they need me. Or they need someone rather, just a warm body will do I'm sure. Baby will be glad to go and say hello to all of her friends. I'm guessing it will be quiet, no one likes to take their dogs to the vet in the wet weather. Maybe I can sneak in a few pages of Ibid which I am still reading and enjoying. I am thinking of writing to this author to thank him for the hours of reading pleasure. Ibid is my new favorite book at the moment. Oh! And before I forget, here's a shout out to Harper Lee. Happy 83rd!
I would like to know what it is about my person that makes me a magnet to meat selling wayfarers. They seem to seek me out. I have to assume that there is something in my demeanor, my expression or behavior that makes these individuals think that I would buy a piece of raw steak from a stranger on the street. Is it a look? Maybe I am seen as a pale, protein deprived anemic or a woman hungry for a good piece of gristle. If so, I doubt this is what would be considered a good look and I hesitate to look in a mirror. It's happened to me a few times now, that I am approached by a stranger trying to unload his ill-gotten beef-y gain.
The first incident was years ago, I was in my early 20's. I was painting a picket fence on a warm Southern California afternoon. It sat on an alley. Here comes a man slowly sauntering up the alley. He was wearing an overcoat, looking more like a flasher than a peddler of meat. He approached the fence, a little wary of the small barking dog. He said something hardly audible. I came nearer and he opened his overcoat revealing a plethora of cuts, "You want a ribeye? A spencer steak? I'll give you a good price. I got bacon". His prices were better than the Safeway that he had pinched the steaks from. But alas, carnivore that I am, I had to say no.
I've told people about that encounter and no one else ever seems to have been approached by a wandering meat seller. So I thought what a fluke. Then last night, here I sat minding my own business. I could hear footsteps climbing the stairs to the front door. The dogs went crazy, probably smelling the meat and the man long before I had even heard him coming.
I opened the door and a 20-something asked if I were a vegetarian. I said no and he says he has some meat that he could sell me, all kinds. He has chicken, beef, veal, mutton, etc., etc., $20 a box. I said no, no and no and he says what if he knocks the price down to $15? I tell him that I don't have any cash on me. And yes I know this is a bad move and I don't know why I even engage with the meat sellers although they seem to be a very accommodating bunch. This one even took credit cards and checks! This actually made me laugh out loud. He was pleasant enough and says "Well then, maybe another time" and he extends his hand to shake on it. We do. He leaves.
I told Michael about it when he came home. We agree that the dogs were no doubt very disappointed. I mean, a meat delivery at the front door. This has to be a doggie wet dream and I turned the man away. The last time one of our dogs claimed victory was when the UPS man tossed a five pound block of cheese over our fence in Santa Fe. If it happened once it could certainly happen again. And it leaves me wondering as well, when and where will I encounter my next street meat man?
