Beautiful sunny day. The cold is breaking. We finally got wise and pulled out the space heater and down comforter. I know it will be spring by next month. The first hints of what will become buds are already showing.
The tree man came over this morning. A weathered guy, plain as a gray stick, whose face broke into light as he began telling me how to prune. "The tree will teach you what you need to do. The branches should go up and out, like this." His arms reached wide like a dancer. "No downward dogs."
He can't help himself and grabs the lopper from me, even though this was only supposed to be a consult, and starts nipping and trimming himself. "Isn't this fun!" he exclaims, in total sincerity. A man who loves his work. "Oh, what a wonderful yard. You have room for a small orchard back here." We have a peach tree and a persimmon tree and a tiny garden in the back, with my four kale plants and the two broccolis that survived and are thriving.
"I was thinking of maybe a poemgranate or an avocado tree," I offer.
"Or an apple?" he suggests. He trims the peach tree along the side of the house to show me how it's done. A small branch nicks him on the chin as it falls and he swipes away blood.
"Oops, the tree is getting back at me."
I have to teach writing all day Saturday. Good for me--haven't been working much at all this past month or so, except for finishing the draft of the play about poetry and getting a few essays and some poems out. It will be good to be earning money again.
I also got a call from the Jewish Ensemble Theatre in Michigan about my play. Everything seems to be going okay--I'll be there in a week, if they get the plane tickets straightened out. This is what I wanted--to be a playwright. And it comes down to missing plane tickets and long underwear. (No it doesn-t--it comes down to crucial conversations.)
I read Carla's blog (www.carlamuses.blogspot.com) and am reminded how all this can shift in a moment. None of this is my true identity, teaching, or even writing. None of us even knows what our true identity is.