Tonight was my night to mow the lawn. I thought that I might want to keep tabs on my mowing thoughts in case I got a couple of minutes to sit down at the computer to write another blog. I don't want this to be contrived now that everybody and their brother is blogging about their mowing thoughts. I tried not force much and my mind wasnt nearly as busy it was last week.
In the now - It was another really beautiful eve even though my neighbor's pit bull was barking alot. He wasnt barking at me. He likes me. We are good neighbors. He always stops barking to listen to me when I talk to him.. Then, he gives me this look as if to ask, "when are you going to come over and pet me again."
After we chat, he usually goes back to barking at the dog that lives on the other side of me. They bark back and forth for hours. I wonder if they are talking about dog stuff or people stuff or if they are talking at all. I am thinking that the barking might be some sort of canine I.M.with lotsa abbreviations (like my kids use) that I dont know much about. I dont think they have ever actually met "in the fur." I wonder if they have a picture of each other in their heads based on how their barks sound. Nuff wit dah dawgs.
There is one bush that always unhooks the spark plug wire on my mower. I dont even know what kind of bush it is. It just weird that its the only one that grabs my spark plug wire. What do you suppose that is about?
So there was a theme to my mowing thoughts. It started after my attention waned, my lawn mower wheels drifted and I made another whisker island. (from last week). I went off on this whole whisker island-tangent. I started thinking that whisker island is a place filled with all the half-assed, unfinished things I've started in my life. Its the place where things go after I start them, get distracted and leave them undone. Its a crowded little island, probably located off of the coast of Antarctica somewhere where its really freakin cold and the weather is horrible all the time.
My whisker island holds my musical aspirations along with the role that I have played in the lives of my kids. Whisker Island is littered with the pages of all the stories I've never finished where they blow around in the cold, damp wind. Its where my wisdom teeth sit like little tombstones marking the spot where I buried all the things I never got around to telling my dad before he died.
Whisker fuckin Island
In the now - It was another really beautiful eve even though my neighbor's pit bull was barking alot. He wasnt barking at me. He likes me. We are good neighbors. He always stops barking to listen to me when I talk to him.. Then, he gives me this look as if to ask, "when are you going to come over and pet me again."
After we chat, he usually goes back to barking at the dog that lives on the other side of me. They bark back and forth for hours. I wonder if they are talking about dog stuff or people stuff or if they are talking at all. I am thinking that the barking might be some sort of canine I.M.with lotsa abbreviations (like my kids use) that I dont know much about. I dont think they have ever actually met "in the fur." I wonder if they have a picture of each other in their heads based on how their barks sound. Nuff wit dah dawgs.
There is one bush that always unhooks the spark plug wire on my mower. I dont even know what kind of bush it is. It just weird that its the only one that grabs my spark plug wire. What do you suppose that is about?
So there was a theme to my mowing thoughts. It started after my attention waned, my lawn mower wheels drifted and I made another whisker island. (from last week). I went off on this whole whisker island-tangent. I started thinking that whisker island is a place filled with all the half-assed, unfinished things I've started in my life. Its the place where things go after I start them, get distracted and leave them undone. Its a crowded little island, probably located off of the coast of Antarctica somewhere where its really freakin cold and the weather is horrible all the time.
My whisker island holds my musical aspirations along with the role that I have played in the lives of my kids. Whisker Island is littered with the pages of all the stories I've never finished where they blow around in the cold, damp wind. Its where my wisdom teeth sit like little tombstones marking the spot where I buried all the things I never got around to telling my dad before he died.
Whisker fuckin Island
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