sitar, or dijerydo

the puddle on the driveway next to the apartment has been growing, inch by inch, every day until finally it dawned on me that maybe, yes, there is a leak and, sure enough, when i squatted down and looked under the bricks where the hose comes out from under the building, a fine, needle-thin spray of water could be seen arching from the pipes.

since our landlord is, at best, absentee, the process is this: call the landlord, wait for him to never call back, call the plumber, pay for it yourself, deduct from rent check at the end of the month, and cross your fingers this is okay. so far, we're right on track, having completed steps one through three. i am currently listening to the plumber bang and jingle in the bathroom, where he not only laughed right out loud at the current arrangement of the pipes under the sink, which have been re-routed along a peculiar path that seems anti-thetical to drainage, but also advised us to "get rid of" the old, leaking faucets we have in there and replace them with new ones. and so, for the past two hours, i've been uneasily trying to settle into my reading and note-taking, but mostly i am distracted by this man, the fact that the water has been shut off, and that i've just finished my fourth cup of strong black coffee.

on memorial day, i got off my lazy ass and took the push broom from the garage and swept the mounds and mounds of tree-pollen from the back driveway/patio area. i swept up a final large pile that came to about the top of my knees, and shoved it into the little gated area where i sometimes toss the leaves of turnips or beets. suddenly, the back area was a fine place to be, again, and i built up some shelving out of old bricks and planks of wood in the garage, artfully arranged our flowers, herbs, and plants along them to make the sitting area look like a place where neo-hippies might hang out with a sitar or dijerydo. i noticed the infamous pomegranate tree has three new fruits coming in, and i listened to the mysterious warble of a red-headed bird that was hopping from limb to limb in the pecan trees that tower in our back yard. the weekend was so quiet -- HH and just about every one of my neighbors were out of town, so i felt like i had the whole block to myself as i walked to get some groceries and some beer, and then, after the sun set, i sat outside and scribbled notes to myself on the big ideas that have been governing my thoughts these days, watched the stray cats chase after frogs and saw bats flittering wildly over the rooftops.

i guess part of getting rid of that "unmoored" feeling is to remember that you might, in fact, have an anchor and that you might have to cast it down right where you are to -- what? not necessarily feel stable (i have problems with sea sickness), but at least get a sense of where you are, leaky pipes and all.