WHAT MAKES FALLEN ANGELS GO PEE-ING
Well now -- I've just finished reviewing/editing five book manuscripts in the past three days. Isn't that speeee...e....ecial...?! I plan to begin Europe with a clear head, knowing full well that I shall end said trip with a, uh, less-than-clear head.
I also have harvested much basil and made pesto now frozen in little containers in the freezer as I won't get to my garden for a while. Garden, which is set amidst stone walls. And so that generates a lame segue towards ...this:
Un - *)(*&%(&*(*&^ - believable. As the billions of you who avidly follow Moi's life might recall, there have been 50 big burly men climbing all over me, I mean, the mountain for several weeks now. Well, yesterday was a watershed. They accomplished this series of rock walls, paths, hammock-holder (but of course), steps et al in this area of the mountain -- I'd watched them work and sweat for weeks and weeks and yesterday, they finished! And did a fabuloso job!
So the owner of the company himself was there to check over the work and compliment the men. Appropriately, the 50 big burly chests were all heaving pridefully under the sun. They truly had done an outstanding job!
And so there they were by the job-site, 50 big burly men cheerfully receiving the construction company owner's benediction when a sound began to make itself heard. Picture this now: the owner was facing one way; the 50 big burly men are facing him. The sound was stemming from something unfolding behind the owner, so the 50 big burly men first saw it happening without the owner's awareness.
And what was happening was that a large construction truck -- whose brakes for some unfathomable reason must not have been engaged -- started slowly rolling down from where it was parked. Said truck was parked at an incline, Peeps, because we are on a mountain. And the truck began slowly, then gathered speed as it rolled down down down...and I can easily imagine how the eyes of big, burly men must have started to widen in horror, causing the construction company owner to pause in puzzlement before he, too, turned around to see what was going on.
The truck gathered speed and rolled towards them, crashing through (a very expensive) deer fence, bumping against a poor oak tree, and thoroughly mangling the lemon and orange trees yours truly had been nurturing for four years.
There's a rush...there's a suddenly apopleptic owner who saw his profit margin disappear if not go into the red (since he, appropriately, promised us later to fix everything at his cost since it was his "company"'s fault)...there were 50 big burly men rushing to the truck to try to get control of it...and, today, there must be one unhappy and possibly now unemployed worker.
These words understate the horror -- I feel really bad. The guys had worked so hard for many weeks under a very hot sun, and now this! One of the saddest sights ever is to see a big, burly man, let alone 50 big burly men, on the verge of tears. Fortunately, as I write this, the Fallen Angels are out sprinkling stardust -- or peeing -- along the affected areas as negative energy is not allowed on Galatea. Benediction:
And ye big burly men shall be just fine...