My Neighbors Took My Grass!

Someone stole my pot plant last night!  I went outside this morning and all that was left was a little short stubby stick of green and brown stuck out of the ground where my treasure had been.  In happier, more intoxicated times, it looked like this:

I had such dreams for my plant.  Just a couple of days ago, my house husbands and cannabis consultants. Nick and Dave, reported that my plant was a gal after all, bursting with little buds, high in the air, capable of, after a little drying and rolling, making me and a few others high ourselves.  According to Nick, my little bit of greenery could produce thirty to forty joints, which, I think (not that I know....), could produce quite a few dollars for my pocketbook.

Ahh, but that wasn't my idea -- I didn't want to get rich, I wanted to get stoned, preferably with a few select friends who would really appreciate this find -- you know who you are... -- and who would also, just as important, keep me from imagining myself as the lead character in Psycho, under the shower or not.  You see, my own personal history with marijuana has featured plenty of paranoia -- I was sort of a misfit with all the other "free spirits" on the 3rd floor of Brown at UMass in 1974.

But this was my grass, just about literally -- how could I not smoke it?  I had it all planned -- I'd sneak out in the middle of the night, cut the leaves down, bring them in to dry, and plan my pot party.  But that dream has gone up in flames, or more likely down a neighbor's lungs.  I guess I can hope they'll do the neighborly thing and invite me over to smoke MY grass.

Calm and Quiet

A quiet week in Portland.  Kanha is off at sleepover camp in western Maine, aptly named "Survivor Camp" -- I think she will! -- while Theo and I are home holding the fort.  We got back from vacation on Block Island, in Rhode Island, on Friday night.  I know, I've been told how crazy I am to go on an island vacation in another state when we live in Maine, the state of hundreds of craggy rocked, surf splashed, stunning islands.   But still BI, a home away from home for me, was beautiful, mostly because it was shared with old friends who make time stop, laughs flow and love abound over a bonfire and folk songs on a moonlit beach.  Plus the water was warm enough to swim in -- I went in three times in five days, which might be a record for me, Ms. Salt and Sand Hater.

The calm feels odd after a summer of running Kanha from camp to camp -- soccer, tennis, basketball, gymnastics, Fractured Fairy Tales, writing -- phew, I think I got them all -- and a July of a promising romance.  Now Kanha is out of my hair and the romance has gone ka-phoo-y, and Theo and I are sitting around licking our wounds.  Well, he's probably just licking his paws or one of our pairs of shoes.  Not all bad I suppose -- time for respite, recovery, and rejuvenation before the onslaught of school, my new business (more on that in a future post -- perhaps I will have a story about how Kanha and I are not going to starve to death...), a future romance or two -- maybe??, and cooler temps.  Here's to a lovely end to summer 2011.

House Husbands

Last week, Nick, my contractor, went on vacation, which was a bit of a shock.  After six weeks or so of his being here every day, we're kind of like an old married couple, the happy version -- he helps me with the groceries when I come home, I pick up the dog poop in the yard for both my and his dog, I ignore the dirt he tramps around the house, he ignores the junk I stack on the edge of the stairs that gets in his way as he carries lumber up the stairs.  I suppose we might move into the OMC, grumpy version, if this project goes into 2012 but for now I'm enjoying having a temporary "husband."

But every good couple needs time apart so once I had adjusted to Nick's upcoming absence, I was feeling pretty good about being a swinging single for a week.  But alas it was not to be -- Dave, the painter, showed up.  Short, smiling, and entirely paint speckled, Dave arrived with his adorable twenty-something son in tow.  My silence was broken but still I smiled widely in response:  if we're down to painting, I must be getting pretty close to move-in date!, I thought.  

Dave made a pretty good replacement husband from the start -- he was cheerful, communicative, puppy-friendly, and a hard worker.  I was happy to have him around for a week.  And the incredible thing about Dave was he took his responsibilities as a husband very seriously.  On Wednesday, while I was toweling off from a shower in front of the mirror in the second floor bathroom, which is accessible only through Kanha's room, I noticed the bathroom door -- which was at least three-quarters closed -- sliding slowly open.  I wheeled around and said something incredibly clear, concise, and comprehensible, like "yow!", only to see Dave standing in front of me.  His body faced the wall, but now his face faced me -- not that I saw it for long.  I was too busy winding my towel around me while he was racing out the door down the stairs.  We reconnoitered awhile later, after I was dressed and he was appropriately chagrined.  He said, "I'm really sorry," and seemed sincere -- so I decided not to quiz him on what he was doing in Kanha's bedroom staring at the wall.  Perhaps getting new painting technique ideas?  

We managed to remain adult about the situation for the rest of the week -- no more too-husbandly behavior on his part -- and he even came up with a new business idea for me before the week was out.  On Friday afternoon, before heading home for the weekend, he brought me outside to show me the pot plant I was inadvertently growing in my front yard.  He appeared to be quite the expert -- told me this plant probably wouldn't get me high because it's male, not female, gave me tips on drying the leaves if desired, suggested it started growing from a roach dropped along the edge of the garden.  At that point, I was happy for his expertise -- maybe I'll try baking it into brownies and taking over for Nancy on Weeds... -- but truly glad he was not my husband.  Hurray, it's next week and Nick is back.