Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Night Out

I thought my lovely case manager, Erin, had fallen ill again Monday morning as she did not show up for our nine o'clock Garden Club meeting. Neither did case manager Paul for that matter. Not until nine fifteen at least. Not that there was much to do. There wasn't. Our new crop of Jack o' lanterns (that's what the picture on the pumpkin seed package showed. I expect pre-cut jacks come the fall) was growing nicely, with 16 to 20 little plants peeking up out the garden dirt and horse shit where Erin and Paul had planted them 2 to 3 weeks ago. Our corn stalks were now at a towering 3 inches high. Pepper plants were still growing peppers (the only plants that have to date grown anything worth while), and various plants that are reaching huge dimensions and taking up valuable space without producing a damn thing, including one monster squash plant who's leaves are spreading out of control, but refuses to produce anything that resembles a squash.
Paul eventually came out and began shoveling garden dirt into a bricked off area he had previously built (I think Paul should seriously consider becoming a mason, as he is very fond of laying bricks without mortar, relying on gravity to keep his creations intact. And maybe he could find that National Treasure deal). I harvested some nice green peppers, tied up one pepper plant that was leaning all over its neighbor, then stood around wondering what to do next. Hardy did what he always does, which is rake the leaves that have fallen during the week. Robert helped out by hanging up his laundry all over the place to dry, including branches of some trees in the midst of the garden, and then sitting down on his voluminous butt while watching us work.
"They're going to get wet," I told him upon first entering the garden and seeing what he was doing.
"If my laundry gets wet then we're going to have a problem," he replied, a not to veiled threat of forth coming violence. I was so scared.
"Then we're going to have a problem," I told him. Although Robert weighs a good 100 pounds more than I do, he is shorter than I am and his bulk is a hindrance to his athletic abilities, not a facilitation, and my fancy footwork would quickly leave him shaken and in the dust.
We soon came to an accommodation, and I told him I would try not to get his clothes too wet if he insisted on leaving them where they were. He provided nothing in return.
I finished watering. Paul and Hardy had wandered off, and I was about to leave this abbreviated session of the Garden Club, when Erin made an appearance.
"I was a little late this morning, Rick. I was coming out after getting my stuff together... I didn't realize you'd all be finished already."
"Yeah, yeah. How convenient. You show up just as we're putting everything away..."
"Now Rick, you know I..."
"Hey, Erin," Robert called out, "want to see my underwear?" They were right there on display for anyone to see.
"No Robert."
"I wrote you a poem," he said.
"For me?"
"Yeah. Wanta read it?"
"Sure Robert. Come to my office later."
Wrote her a poem... makes me want to throw up.
I invited Erin to check out our new pumpkin crop.
"Wow. There's so many," she exclaimed.
"Yes," I said.
Erin found an NSA listening device attached to the Dwarf Orange Tree.
"What's this?" she asked.
"An NSA listening device," I told her.
"Damn that NSA," she replied.
And I asked her how her weekend had been.
"It was very good... I went to this great thing, Rick, oh, but you already commented on it."
She was referring to an entry she had made on her Facebook page that I had read and commented on.
"Yes, I did," I then broke out into a raucous chorus of "Singing in the Rain," with Erin joining in. We danced and frolicked as we sang, just like Gene Kelly, much to Robert's horror (FYI: Erin is a much better at frolicking than I am).
She had attended a screening of that film last Saturday evening in the Hollywood Cemetery, and told everybody about it on Facebook.
The Cinespia cemetery, at 6000 Santa Monica Bl. is screening non-contemporary films on Saturday evenings in a picnic setting. You are asked to bring blankets and pillows. Alcohol is permitted. I had considered going to an upcoming screening of "Being There," but have decided not to. I've seen too many Zombie movies to fall for the old movies in the cemetery trick.
"I was just a few blocks north of you, on Hollywood, at the Pantages," I told her.
"Really. What were you doing?"
A few friends took me to see the musical production of "Legally Blonde," a Broadway play now making its national tour.
It was great. I don't usually go for musicals, but I hadn't been to a play for a long time, and it was wonderful. A vibrant production with exquisite stagecraft, and a terrific and hard working cast. So much energy is expended by the actors during each performance I don't know how they do it 8 times a week. The plot followed the movie's fairly accurately, the musical numbers though made it a unique and special experience.
"I used to do that," Erin told me, "though probably not as good as they did."
Watching Erin frolick convinces me otherwise.
I enjoyed the play so much that I downloaded an MTV taping of the Broadway cast's production, and gave a copy to Erin, thinking she may enjoy it (as well as a copy of "Woodstock," last week. She is so fortunate to have me as a client).
She rewarded me by flaking out on our Tuesday excursion to the Hippie Kitchen, citing paperwork that was over due. "You and Jose have a good time," she said.
"Yeah... thanks."
Jose's a nice man, and a wonderful friend, but he'll never look like my daughter.
Then she flaked on us again, canceling the Drama Free Support Group later in the afternoon after she had told me that she had thought up something interesting to do besides watching her put together puzzles at the speed of light.
She is such a tease.
I will have my revenge soon enough. I am not a man to be frolicked with lightly.
I will end with a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Erin's friend, the lovely Courtney, who celebrated her birthday last Monday, the 24th. Happy Birthday Courtney!!!
I am not beyond the use of extra exclamation marks when the occasion warrants.

No comments:

Post a Comment