Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Horse Manure

Case manager Paul said something interesting to me yesterday morning.
"The back of my truck is filled with horse shit."
"Really," I said.
I had no reason not to believe him, as he is usually a truthful fellow, and unknown to pretense.
It was eight thirty in the morning, and I had been waiting for him to come to work so we could plant the nice flowers we had bought the day before.
"You want to help me move it out back?" he asked.
Being slightly acidic, Hardy had been regurgitated by Mongolian Maneater, had stumbled back home, and was able to help us in our horse shit moving efforts. (see, The Mongolian Maneater)
We high jacked a 55 gallon trash can from the kitchen, and put that on a dolly Paul had in his office, and took a couple of shovels and three pairs of gloves.
Paul had parked his truck right outside on the sidewalk, and sure enough, the back of his truck was piled high with horse shit, mixed with wood shavings. Paul and Hardy shoveled the horse shit, while I held the trash can steady.
"Where did you happen upon this horse shit, Paul?" I asked.
"Craigslist," he said. "It was free... and there's a lot more where that came from. We can have as much horse shit as we want."
"Wow, that's great. I think we definitely will need more horse shit."
"You think so? By the way Hardy, glad you were able to get back safe."
"You guys should have waited for me," Hardy replied, sounding a little offended.
"Sorry about that Hardy," I told him. "But there has never been a known instance when a Mongolian Maneater has vomited up one of its victims. You've made history, Hardy."
"You still should have waited. I had to walk home."
"Sorry," I told him.
"Sorry," Paul said.
"I was a little surprised that they even had a Mongolian Maneater at Home Depot. You may be able to sue, Hardy."
It took us five trips to the garden to empty Paul's truck of horse shit. Now we have a big pile of it in our garden.
"That's one big pile of horse shit," I exclaimed.
We will use this horse shit as fertilizer for our garden.
When Paul returned from moving his truck, we began planting our new pepper plants, ferns, and flowers, generously sprinkling them with copious amounts of horse shit.
"Where's Erin?" I asked.
"I don't know. Maybe she had something going on this morning," Paul said.
It was now getting close to ten o'clock and Erin was no where to be found, and we had a ten thirty appointment to go to the Hippie Kitchen.
"I'll text her," Paul stated.
"I hope the earwigs didn't get her," I said.
She was in her office when I came down at ten thirty.
"We were worried about you," I told her.
"Sorry," she said. "My phone ran down, and I over slept."
"What time did you wake up?"
"About thirty minutes ago."
She hadn't seen our big pile of horse shit yet, so I took her out back to see it.
"Wow, that's a great big pile of horse shit," she said.
"Yes, it certainly is," I agreed. "There is something almost hypnotizing about it, isn't there? Makes you want to dive right in..."
"Not really."
We walked toward the Hippie Kitchen.
"You use your phone for your alarm clock?" I asked.
"What sound do you wake up to?"
"Any music or song I want. What do you use for an alarm clock, Rick?"
"My alarm clock."
"At least you have an alarm phone. Robert (one of my neighbors) doesn't even have a clock. He calls me up to ask me what time it is."
The parakeets sang to Erin as we entered the Hippie Kitchen, going: "Poo-te-weet! Poo-te-weet!"
Again no beans today. Erin and I enjoyed a nice plate of tuna and noodles with our salad and pre-buttered bread. We discussed our respective weekend activities. At one point a gristled street person sitting across from us asked if we were Yuppies.
"Not that I'm aware of," I told him.
On our way back, I observed, "So you successfully avoided the horse shit shoveling, this morning."
"Yes, I did."
"Very clever of you."
Later at yoga, I wore some new yoga clothes I had especially bought for yoga class. Grey shorts and a grey sleeveless T-shirt, inspired by Michelle Obama.
"I like your new yoga clothes," Erin told me.
"Thank you."
"Rick, I can see your armpit hair!"
"Be glad that's all you can see."
Yoga class was ruthless. Beth advising us to constantly be graceful in our spine twisting. She admonished me for not be graceful when falling back into a sitting position.
"You'll have to work on that," she said.
"I will."
Later for Support Group, Paul, Erin, Jose, and I took a walk north on Alameda to Second Street, and enjoyed some frozen yogurt, at the Frozen Yogurt Store.
"I don't think I've even had frozen yogurt before," I said. "Thanks for taking us here."
I had four different flavors of frozen yogurt, with mini-M and Ms sprinkled on top. It was good. I wish I had some right now.
Before returning home we checked out the Japanese American Museum, on First Street, and the Geffen Museum, right behind it. Both were closed.
When we returned, I found Hardy out back, and we had a raucous horse shit fight.
Hardy won.

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