Hey, folks. As June unfolds, I’ve got a few things on board which I can’t wait to let you know. One chore already accomplished was to teach Nikki the art of fishing, which was actually done on the Eastern Prom on a park bench. She was a natural. Bang, she took to it like a duck to water! She was hitting targets in the grass with her hook with finesse. So it gave me a little time to think.
Do you remember the One-for-Three Club? You know, for every one trip to the ocean, bring back three pieces of trash? Well, I’m thinking that now it’s getting warmer, maybe we’ll do this: for every trip to the ocean, bring back three little green crabs, one of which can kill a hundred soft-shell clams a day!
Now do you see the importance of this? Unless we achieve this goal, we won’t have any clams to eat! And, by the way, how you dispose of them ugly suckers is up to you. Just don’t eat ’em.
Now I know some folks will find this really horrendous, killing anything. I easy justify this with my next adventure.
On Thursday, Clare and I are planting flowers, and hopefully some veggies. From the first time we met, I’ve realized she and I share a passion for flowers, both planting them and sharing them with others. I hope this gosh-darn rain stops.
Oh, and one important thing: eradicate only the green crabs, not the orange. Orange good, green bad.
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So I’m out on my porch because my oxygen line needs to be straightened out. What’s the turmoil? A Cat 304 is digging out my neighbor’s boiler, the dust is in my eyes, you can imagine the noise, and they got the nerve to eat lunch in front of me — means an all-day job! They’re out of Lawrence, Mass. I should have known.
Now, to straighten out my damn hose, I’m sure it looks to those construction laborers like I’m masturbating. I hope no one calls the cops. I believe they’re stretching things out to check on my behavior.
Them guys from Lawrence — you don’t know what you get besides heroin. I should have guessed: they’re not laggin’ the time for me, they’re running the clock! Makes me wish I could go back with ’em, do a bag. Ha! For any of you in the know, there’s a lot of yawning. They must be tired, huh? Ha.
•••
Now let’s bring on the flowers! And bring them on we did. Nikki brought me over to the Franklin Arterial and we met Clare and I had the time of my life. It was real good, because I lived in Kennedy Park, which our plot is adjacent to, and I always figgered, What a waste of space. You know what I mean, between the lanes? Oh, it was good for one thing: sliding in the winter. And they used to have a yard sale there once a year.
Anyways, we met my new pal Clare, who I swear was born to be a farmer. When she was planting all those flowers, I offered her a pair of gloves. No way. She actually disdained them. She already had half of the bed filled in with donations from somebody. And she had three full trays of different kinds of plants. Best thing was, she had those plants that you just stick ’em in the ground.
Nikki was on patrol with a camera, gettin’ some real great pictures! She says she was gonna send them to my editor. I don’t mind that at all. He’ll most likely see what I saw: the prettiest instant garden a person could see.
We watered them, but the Good Earth helped us a bit with intermittent sprinkles from the sky, and I seen the weather and it looks like murky for the next four days. Clare says it’s good for our plants, gets ’em nice and solid. She brought plants that would attract different insects. Me, I contributed a prayer plant. Yeah, I figured a prayer plant would give us good luck. Come to think of it, my prayer plant better bring a lot of luck — it’s not even an outdoor plant.
’member how last month I said we made lobster traps? Well, I’ve come up with a very usable crab trap. For netting, I’ll use this stuff they sell ice pops in. And for rope I’ll use my old discarded air hose. It’s a beauty, for sure. And then, when I get ’em on shore, I got this tool, a wooden mallet, and I’ll bang ’em a good one, make ’em wish they’re back in Asia or wherever they originated.
Only the green ones — don’t forget, please.
