Sunday, April 07, 2013

Hand me back the conch, I still have something to say

When I first started writing this journal, the goal was 2 fold. Firstly im a storyteller,  Ive been borring anyone who would sit still long enough to listen with crazy stories about growing up on a farm or spending my teens as a missionary with the weight of someone else's prophesy that I was to grow up a "powerful man of god". So many stories that my wife beggged me to commit them to some kind of archive.  The second reason I took up the bloggers virtual quill? Well there was this girl.... then again, how many great creative endeavours were launched in the hopes of catching the attention of the opposite sex? Hmm? What is that you ask, did it work? We will be celebrating 9 years together soon, so yeah I think we could chalk that up as a win.

Fast forward now  what has it been? 8 no, 9 years.  That little rope company Istarted up in my garage now employees 4 full time bodies.  Oh and that wide eyed, "gosh I am just this guy who makes rope.." idealisim?  Well yeah, it has become a tad tarnished around the edged, but then again being the biggest dog in the room tends to do that.

However, this is not about bondage or even sex, what you ask?  A blog about things OTHER than someone's emerging kink and path of discivery to al things covered in shades of gray?  Yeah, not so much.  Right now, right now I am going to write a lot about my garden.  Yes, oh how the mighty have fallen, the oncegreat and  powerful Monk has beenreduced to blogging about tomatoes and just how far he will go in order to see them bloom in this town.  Seriously, you have no idea.  I think I'd take up starting another buisness from the ground up over trying to get some decent hierlooms to bloom. 

Where the fuck do I begin?  Hell with even trying to be linear, lets just get going already. 

The garden is codenamed "Project plant potatoes, not coffins" and was a response to learning that my uncle had recently died.  While Ihave never been super close to my family, that happes when your father and oldest brother disown you and compare you to the likes of hitler and that dude from helter skelter...but that is a tale for another day.  

My uncle was the youngest of thesiblings, the cool one.  The one whose pristine collectionof Hustler Magazines would be soiled by our grubby, curious hands.  Side note, years later he woud tell me that all I should expect in the will from him was his collection old Hustlers, everything from issue #1 to the most recent, save the ULTRA rare ones that my brother and I pilfered as youth.  "If you would have just told me, Icould have hooked you up, but nooooo," he would kid, you had to make off ith the grace slick issue AND Althea Flyntt!"

Mourning is a funny thing, after the death of my brother 4 years ago, Ibuilt a huge art installation.  Mind you, Idid not set out to do that, I just hae the worst timing in hstiry and his death would happen unexpectedly while Iwas in the early days of building. 

This time arround, no "art" and no sex.  Well you could argue that gardens are pretty sexy, but no, I want this to be something simple, a focus on putting life into the world, after so much has been taken away from it.  And so, here it sits, stage one planted and complete.  Less than 10 days since committing the seeds to soil and we have life emerging from the thick, black soil.