9 Dollar Friday
Back to that haunting figure
A Dual Mission
Friday, I was up early enough to consider taking the bus on a 24 hour pass, over the bridge to where Howard and the pot plants that I planted by the river live. At least I think both are alive.
I kind of haphazardly had planted by the river the plants; realizing that to cultivate the soil like a farmer would; would have required that I simulate the plowing by hacking out the soil and "turning it over," which I had started to do, using the one dollar gardening tool that I had bought and brought for the purpose, before realizing that it was not up to the task of chopping through what turned out to be some pretty tenacious soil, there by the river.
The fact that it periodically floods there, by the Mississippi River, bodes well for their being pretty fertile soil already there, I am assuming, thinking that a lot of fine fertile soil must be dissolved in the water from its 1,300 mile trip from somewhere in Minnesota.
And I have chosen a spot far enough from the river so that the period of its deluge would be somewhere around every 15 years, as the river would have to rise to the level that it had this past winter, which is something that hadn't happened in about that long; as evidenced by the fact that a community of homeless tent dwellers and cat fishers had sprung up at the spot over time; before it became flooded with an average of 3 feet of water, with Howard's tent having been situated at what would turn out to be the low water mark. He would have only been a foot underwater, as evidenced by the stains left on trees around it.
I planted at the very edge of the flood, but, having been unable to chop up the soil and turn it over, the plants have been on their own these past 6 weeks now in regard to working their roots into a substratum that had chewed up a dollar store "gardening spade" and spat it out.
So, I am giving my pot plants a 38% chance of being alive and well, and Howard a 94% probability.
But, the afternoon wore on, and it was soon evident to me that if I were to embark upon my trip across the river, I would return late enough to cut into my busking time. It was Friday, afterall.
Checking upon the plants could be done without wasting extra time; but, visiting Howard would require at least a couple hours.
It's too bad that people that you like to see but only see infrequently seem to require a longer visit, rather than just popping in for a minute to see how the person is doing, and then running off.
This decreases the frequency of the visits, as you feel like you must set aside a couple hours in order to get caught up on the relatively large gap of time that has elapsed since your last visit, and to let the person know that you value their friendship in that you are going to take advantage of this rare meeting and extend it as long as possible; even pushing things of less importance back...I'm not going to busk tonight, I want to hang out with Howard.... This block of time is hard to come by, and soon, so much time has gone by that the task of getting caught up seems too daunting to ever visit the person again.
But, suffice it to say, I put off my river crossing for another day.
That day was to be today, but it is now 8 PM again, and though I only made 9 bucks last (Friday) night, I have come to the conclusion that I must just "show up for work" like I was taught to do, when I grew up in the 70's; some nights will be slow...
It's too bad that on a "slow" night the busker can't take it easier; if you are playing half assed you might as well be not playing at all. The girl in the Po Boy shop can more lazily make a sandwich on a slow night, because there is only one person in line and no need to rush; but the customer is not going to say: "I'm not paying a penny for this sandwich (though I will eat it) because you took your sweet time making it and were a little sloppy in the way you laid the pastrami in the bread." Not so for the busker.
Back to that haunting figure
A Dual Mission
Friday, I was up early enough to consider taking the bus on a 24 hour pass, over the bridge to where Howard and the pot plants that I planted by the river live. At least I think both are alive.
I kind of haphazardly had planted by the river the plants; realizing that to cultivate the soil like a farmer would; would have required that I simulate the plowing by hacking out the soil and "turning it over," which I had started to do, using the one dollar gardening tool that I had bought and brought for the purpose, before realizing that it was not up to the task of chopping through what turned out to be some pretty tenacious soil, there by the river.
The fact that it periodically floods there, by the Mississippi River, bodes well for their being pretty fertile soil already there, I am assuming, thinking that a lot of fine fertile soil must be dissolved in the water from its 1,300 mile trip from somewhere in Minnesota.
And I have chosen a spot far enough from the river so that the period of its deluge would be somewhere around every 15 years, as the river would have to rise to the level that it had this past winter, which is something that hadn't happened in about that long; as evidenced by the fact that a community of homeless tent dwellers and cat fishers had sprung up at the spot over time; before it became flooded with an average of 3 feet of water, with Howard's tent having been situated at what would turn out to be the low water mark. He would have only been a foot underwater, as evidenced by the stains left on trees around it.
I planted at the very edge of the flood, but, having been unable to chop up the soil and turn it over, the plants have been on their own these past 6 weeks now in regard to working their roots into a substratum that had chewed up a dollar store "gardening spade" and spat it out.
So, I am giving my pot plants a 38% chance of being alive and well, and Howard a 94% probability.
But, the afternoon wore on, and it was soon evident to me that if I were to embark upon my trip across the river, I would return late enough to cut into my busking time. It was Friday, afterall.
Checking upon the plants could be done without wasting extra time; but, visiting Howard would require at least a couple hours.
It's too bad that people that you like to see but only see infrequently seem to require a longer visit, rather than just popping in for a minute to see how the person is doing, and then running off.
This decreases the frequency of the visits, as you feel like you must set aside a couple hours in order to get caught up on the relatively large gap of time that has elapsed since your last visit, and to let the person know that you value their friendship in that you are going to take advantage of this rare meeting and extend it as long as possible; even pushing things of less importance back...I'm not going to busk tonight, I want to hang out with Howard.... This block of time is hard to come by, and soon, so much time has gone by that the task of getting caught up seems too daunting to ever visit the person again.
But, suffice it to say, I put off my river crossing for another day.
That day was to be today, but it is now 8 PM again, and though I only made 9 bucks last (Friday) night, I have come to the conclusion that I must just "show up for work" like I was taught to do, when I grew up in the 70's; some nights will be slow...
It's too bad that on a "slow" night the busker can't take it easier; if you are playing half assed you might as well be not playing at all. The girl in the Po Boy shop can more lazily make a sandwich on a slow night, because there is only one person in line and no need to rush; but the customer is not going to say: "I'm not paying a penny for this sandwich (though I will eat it) because you took your sweet time making it and were a little sloppy in the way you laid the pastrami in the bread." Not so for the busker.
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