It's official. As of 8:20pm CST my garden is planted. May the spiritual parables (and the garden wars with The Tiger) begin.
I've been at it since 9am. Of course, since Agent Wife and I started this gardening bit, we've done it the fancy white guy/internet info way. Meaning...lots of extra work up front that will prevent work later on.
1)We've always laid out cardboard or newspaper (collected at various recycling collections) on top of the soil. 2)Then I put wood chipped mulch (free from the city recycling plant) on top of the cardboard. 3) Using a box cutter, I cut into the cardboard to make the rows for seeds and plants. 4) Plant seeds/plants 5) *New feature as of last year* - place about 150 feet of soaker hose (given to me by The Tiger...don't know why he didn't like them) over every square inch of growing space so all I have to do is hook up the hose nightly and water for 15-30 min, depending on the heat level that day.
I'm beat. It's a lot of work. But the cardboard prevents weeding all year. The mulch a) keeps the cardboard in place, b) hold moisture-a-plenty and, c) looks pretty.
Various faith parables came to mind while I was sweating. As I planted everyone of those seeds, it was hard not to wonder if anything will ever become of them. Sometimes we pour our lives into people, like the dozens if not hundreds from the old izzy ministry days. I wonder whatever became of those folks. Some I know. Most have disappeared.
...and of course...the whole "reap a harvest" someday thoughts were obvious. Looking forward to everyday between now and the first freeze this fall.
BEFORE: a plot of dirt...carefully composted and tilled for months before the planting stage. (In background: Agent Dog on patrol for squirrels)
AFTER: ready for growing (this photo taken just before the soaker hoses were placed for the season.
I spent quality time with The Tiger today. It's been a while. Ever since he made that early cross from boyhood to man last fall, our paths don't cross too frequently.
Nothing significant happened that I know of. We went out in his family's van, the brown-n-tan (an old trustworthy friend) to the city recycling center to pick up a load of mulch for our gardens.
I begin planting Wednesday, or maybe Tuesday night. This is the 4th year and every year The Tiger and I have what I jokingly refer to as "the garden wars". I'll never forget the Garden Wars Episode I (2003): The Phantom Jackass. It was the first time ever for Agent Wife and I to garden so we didn't know what the hell we were doing. Our garden was obviously such a "white guy/this is how the internet says to plant a garden" type of fare. We had the most pitiful miniscule crop that I somehow killed off by the 4th of July. Meanwhile The Tiger, at age 13, haphazardly tossed some seeds over his shoulder on some mangy dirt. And...maybe it might rain on them (while I was watering the crap out of mine). And in like 6 weeks The Tiger has this lush, 10 foot tall garden of eden. There was probably a naked woman in there too. My garden had nothing lush and naked.
Well, by last year I was experienced and The Tiger's teenage induced laziness caught up with him. So last year I kicked his garden's butt all over the town. All that to say...I think he's serious this year. He wants revenge.
But in the end, it's all good fun. We always share produce with each other.
One very godly observation: I screwed up the back door of their van on accident. I was showing The Tiger how every year I back up into the 2 story mountain of mulch by opening the back door, slamming it into reverse, then flooring it into the mulch with a big slam halt. He loves stuff like that.
Well, like a gigantic idiot, I hit the angle of the mulch mountain wrong and bend the back door way the hell back, thus screwing it up. It not only left a big dent, but it wouldn't close properly. We got it to work somehow.
Here's the cool observation of middle class versus poverty culture: we get home and I offer to buy a different back door if we could find one at a junkyard (it's an old van). All I had was $10 in my pocket and I gave it to The Tiger to give to his step dad Manuel. Whatever the door cost, I'd pay the rest when they went to buy it.
Later tonight I see Manuel who was laughing at our van mishap. He refused the offer and gave me back the $10. He said it was no big deal. "A work truck" he said in broken English, laughing.
And if that had been owned by a middle class family you know they be wanting my insurance info, home number, head on a platter, etc.
Tonight the izzy group met at our house for study of The Book. After some brief recap of the preceding weeks lessons, the Concrete Man (one of izzy's board advisors and founders) asked Agent Wife and I if we knew an African refugee named Victor Franco. Do we ever. Agent Wife interprets for him and his family often.
Turns out, Victor is one of the employees on a construction job under the Concrete Man's supervision. Victor has had problems with his knees and recently received a doctors written orders to avoid heavy lifting and bending over, etc...all things that a worker must do on a construction site.
There is currently no light duties available from the company. Plus the company has to have Victor sit out as they could become liable for any injuries he has with a doctor's notice. And Victor desperately needs to work for income. The Concrete man felt as though he should pray for Victor's healing but had no time or place on the job.
So as he's telling this story to us, we call Victor and have him come over to be healed. We pray and watch a miracle healing in his knees right in our house. Then both Victor and the Concrete Man explain how this is all the CEO's timing as they were originally supposed to be at other places this evening. Victor (who was a pastor back home in Africa) was suppose to preach for a group of French speaking Africans in Dallas tonight.
Instead, after his miracle healing Victor, through Agent Wife's interpretation, spoke his prepared message to us impromptu. The message was on timing. There could not have been a better subject for us (the izzy group and my family individually) who has waited over 3 years for the CEO to use us in some sort of capacity again.
The text, taken from Jeremiah 15:18-19, is basically about people (like me & izzy) who whine when things aren't happening the way we think it should. And yet the CEO has not abandoned us, but things will happen in the perfect timing.
Like Victor's healing. Like receiving this message. Thank you CEO.
We had our first extended agent network gathering featuring all of those listed in the side bar from the fair mother city (with the exception of the organic wife...sorry, this meeting somehow evolved into a guy thing).
There was really no agenda other than eating my special made onion burgers and sitting around pretending to know each other. However, above excellent discussion about the inner workings of subversive ministry in and beyond the fair mother city had evolved.
It was a great 2 hours or so for guys to get together in real life outside of the blogosuniverse. I had a good time and somehow or another friendships are starting to be formed.
I love reading about the old testament prophets in The Book. Not just their writings (like Isaiah, Amos, Micah, Jeremiah, etc), but I especially get a kick out of reading about them. Like Elijah & Elisha in I & II Kings. Just the way they lived, things they did, etc...I love it.
I've been into II Kings lately with Elisha. Most people overlook him for Elijah which is funny since Elisha had the double anointing. So I guess he was a double bad-ass.
I kept running into funny little stories that made me wonder why they were included in the overall text, other than the fact that these were stories of Elisha and there was some miraculous quality about them.
My favorite was "An Axhead Floats" (II Kings 6:1-7). Some prophetic buddy of Elisha was chopping down trees near the Jordan River when his axhead fell in the water. "Oh crap" he said. "It was borrowed".
It was borrowed? Oh goodness...we have an emergency. Call the feds. So somehow Elisha throws a stick into the water which somehow makes the axhead float.
Now I'm thinkin'...what were the consequences of losing a borrowed axhead? You gotta buy the owner a new one? Maybe some weird jewish law that made the owner throw something of yours into the water, ala "eye for an eye"?
At best, I can guess that this borrowed tool being lost would create a minor inconvenience for the guy who lost it. An INCONVENIENCE. And yet the CEO cares about the little things in our life enough to do something miraculous about them if we ask him, I suppose.
Like making an axhead float.
I don't know...maybe there's more deep theological meanings behind this story...
A neighbor came by today during lunch to see if I could get her mower to start. While out on the sidewalk yanking away with the start rope I take notice of a taxi pulling up in Obi-Wan's driveway. Some guy got out with a hanging bag and knocked on his front door while the cab left. My seasoned Agent instincts told me this was his long lost son from Houston.
After returning some yard equipment to Obi-Wan I indeed discovered that the mystery guest was his wayward son Lamont.
Wow. Totally unexpected. Lamont just hopped aboard the Greyhound bus and boom, here he is with no warning. I think he's staying a few days, even though he hates the fair mother city. He's not the first to despise my town.
Obi-Wan hadn't seen Lamont in years and didn't think he'd ever get to see him again. They aren't real close. The family and I got to meet him and visit tonight. Pleasant guy. He's pretty different from Obi-Wan, which I had gathered from many conversations about him. I'm glad to have met him.
Part I: Gig at the Jedi Counsel Room last Friday came with considerable pay. Considerable for a weird-ass instrumental solo act in the musical desert known as the fair mother city. And considerable since I offered to play for tips only, just to get my foot back in the door. And good thing since tips that night totaled a whopping $2 and some coins. It was cheap-ass night at the jedi counsel room. Oh yeah, they also gave me a pack of Nat Shermans and a drink from their coffee bar. The establishment took care of me. I might not be so anti-establishment after all...
Part II: We received unexpected financial blessing from an unexpected source. Thank you CEO.
Well, the mountain top journey was more like a 15 minute visit to a mole hill. And that's not a bad thing, I'm convinced. Once I arrived on the hill it just didn't seem like I was meant to be there for long a time. Thus...not pull out from all things around me for long.
Although someday I look forward to someone lending me a set of keys to some isolated mountain-side cabin next to a pond...and having at least a weekend to myself...with a couple of books...10 caliber...voice of the CEO...and a case of Fat Tire. Someday. Get away from it all.
Otherwise...I have a few reports to file here in the next few days regarding things I was shown or observed on the mole hill.
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After being best friends with Obi-Wan for almost 3 years, I still learn of new cultural barriers occasionally. Like this one:
The Librarian (aka Agent S) had a school paper to write based on an interview he makes with a person over 65. He asked if Obi-Wan would assist in such an endeavor. Obi-Wan accepted, but with a mild reluctance. So a week later on the night before the scheduled interview, I remind him about it and prep him with the questions emailed by Agent S. I began to witness a side of Obi-Wan I didn't know existed. He acted offended at the questions, calling them "stupid", etc. So I say, "How is 'What event from your youth influenced you to what you are today?' a stupid question?" He said something like, "How am I supposed to know what I was thinkin' about when I was a kid? Stupid!"
I think deep down his brief offense had something to do with feeling ashamed for being undereducated, and thus, not knowing why anyone would ask the question in the first place, or not knowing why its answer would be important to anyone.
In the end, all went extremely well. Obi-Wan saw the greater need to help out Agent S and give his interview rather than getting upset about something beyond his understanding. It was cool.
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After tracking him down, I spent some quality time with Uncle Kurt today. We ate at the best mom-n-pop burger joint located within the boundaries of the fair mother city.
Kurt is at a new crossroads: he's either about to rent an apartment or possibly move to Colorado temporarily. Kurt has bad cataracts and has been trying to find ways (ie: the government) to pay for doctor visits to improve his vision. He finally received some kind of medicaid benefits, but after a visit to an eye doctor found out that this medicaid won't go into effect until July. I don't understand because he's already paying about $200 a month out of his $600 a month SS benefit for some kind of health insurance (don't get me started). He says that he can get health benefits easy in Colorado. So basically...if he doesn't get this certain apartment real soon Kurt's headed for the Rockies real soon. But he plans to return. I hope he doesn't have to go.
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Did I mention I'm excited about the upcoming gardening season? Historically, our garden has gotten better each year. Today we bought the '10 packs for a buck' seeds from the Dollar Store down the street.
And somehow like the gardening thing, my life is experiencing a stage of great anticipation. I don't know what's up. Financially, we're still living real low. But we seem to be gaining momentum as compared to recent months. And I have no proof, but I just trust something's about to happen...
Solo gig at the Jedi Counsel Room last night went OK. Jack from the local agent network was there. It's a rough start back in these waters for me, but I'll get over it. I'm still not overly excited about making music much anymore. But I'm forcing myself out of hiding in attempts to heal some wounds that I didn't know I had (plus make a few bucks). I was text chatting with the construction worker (another network agent) the other night and this subject of my music absence came about. He said something about the whole body/soul thing in that...you can't mess with one aspect of our humanity without jacking with the other. I never had thought of that. Yes, like when someone close to you dies...you probably don't feel like eating for a few days. Except this isn't about eating. It's about not playing music. For over 3 years. Go figure...
I'm getting pretty excited...it's gardening time. Woo-hoo. Who would have ever thought that this kid from the boring-ass big city suburbs would get excited about plants in the dirt. This will be Agent Wife's and my 4th year to grow produce. And man...let me tell you...as cliche as this sounds, there are SO many clear communications from the CEO and his ways as told through gardening. I hope to keep a running report of them here on the agent b files after we plant in the next week or so.
Attempted re-contact with the woman who owns the facility I'm interested in for The Table will take place early this week. She should be back from Mexico by now...
As an undercover operative for the CEO of the universe, I am strategically embedded within the poverty culture of Abilene, TX (the fair mother city). This blog contains my reports, discoveries, observations, and confessions. My identity must remain concealed due to passages in The Book under Matt. 6:1-4. The names on this blog have been changed to protect the guilty.
