IT’S FUN TO WATCH the plants in our yard. It’s even more fun now that I have eliminated the beasts that tossed trash everywhere, primarily fruit trees.
We still have no gardener — no maid either — if you don’t count Abel the Deadpan Yardman who cuts the lawn every summer and autumn. I get him to do other chores on occasion, but once the monsoon stops, I’m mostly on my own.
We’ll likely get a maid before we get a gardener. It’s a question of how much longer it will be before my child bride runs out of steam. One reason she has not run out of steam so far is that she has ants in her pants. Relax is not a word she’s familiar with.
I, on the other hand, am very familiar with it.
But, like me, she’s not getting any younger. And the house is very large. She does most of the housework, and I do all of the yard when Abel’s not around.
I had an encounter with what seemed a good maid option about a week ago. I was out on the street sidewalk one morning, picking up trash that had been dumped by ill-bred locals when a woman approached and asked if we needed a maid.
I told her no, but I was taken by how exceptionally nice she seemed. Good vibes. She then crossed the street, walked one house down and knocked on that door. I figured she was going to ask them the same thing, but no. The door opened, and in she went. So she works there. It’s likely a part-time gig, and she’s looking to fill out her schedule.
I should have requested her phone number. But it was 10 a.m., and perhaps I can see her again if I go out there and wait at 10 a.m. some other day as she arrives for work with the neighbors. The housewife there is something of a grump, so perhaps that’s the problem, the reason she’s looking to make a change.
Returning to the gardening theme, the plant just above is a philodendron that lives in a corner of the yard. Like most all overgrown things here, I planted it when it was an itty-bitty baby. One day, perhaps I will learn. Quit planting stuff.
I had to shove aside its monster leaves to poke the camera closer to the meat of the matter. I also planted the same thing in the small carport green space of our downtown casita years ago. That too has attained Godzilla proportions.
I always thought philodendrons were smallish, potted plants. Maybe at times they are. We also have rose bushes. Years ago, I planted four. With one exception, they’ve done squat, and I’ve dug up two. Of the remaining, only that top one shows pride in itself. I’ll soon dig up the other, I imagine. It looks so lame it should be embarrassed.
Tomorrow will be a busy Monday. We’ll head out early to drop off the Nissan March at a tire place for a new set of Uniroyal Tiger Paws. That’s on the ring road. Then we go downtown in the Honda to pay and leave paperwork for another year of the P.O. Box. Then to the bank to add my wife’s name to a new account and ask about credit cards.
If the line’s not too long at City Hall, we might pay property taxes too.
Somewhere in there, we’ll walk laps around the big plaza to maintain our physiques, and then we’ll visit a restaurant facing the plaza for a yummy dish called Huevos Tarasca.
We’ll be home shortly after noon. Normally, we never leave home before noon, so this switch will rock our world. We’ll return to normal on Tuesday.