I wasn’t quite awake this morning, early this morning, so the sound of running water UNDER the kitchen sink didn’t fit. Didn’t fit into my mental schemata of sounds I should be hearing that early. Earlier, when I fed Earl outside, I found myself imitating a bird’s song I was hearing. A sound that had a welcomed place in my world. This waterfall noise didn’t fit, but brought some understanding my way. What do you think of when you hear the term (IF you ever hear it)–PLUMBER’S BUTT?
Won’t go into the adjectives I would have previously given. They no longer apply–because I REALLY understand it now. The expression “plumber’s butt.” Before–before this morning–I THINK I THOUGHT plumbers just might not care that their pants were hanging down for the world to see their “cleavage.” I guess that’s what I assumed. Actually before this morning, I really never gave the expression itself much consideration. But that’s all changed because just a few minutes ago, while I was twisted and tangled underneath the kitchen sink, studying the lines running here and there, trying to figure out how to bypass the water filtration system which had just struck a leak of ‘Ole Faithful’ proportions, I suddenly felt cool air there. There behind me. Where my baggy bottoms could do nothing but slide…down…my rear end. And as I remained there in pretzel position, contorted way past any comfort level, I had an “ah ha” moment. A moment two fold. First thought–“my god, I’m experiencing plumber’s butt.” (and funny to say, the cool air felt GOOD) Second thought–maybe I should have been one–a plumber that is. Because fixing the problem was tremendously empowering, here on a Sunday morning when NOTHING is open.
And on Friday, when Boy was here for the night, helping fill in fence posts holes for the expanded garden, I looked out from my work area and saw this:
and 10 or 15 minutes later, this:
and I had to check it out.
A worm. He was contemplating a little earth worm. And when he asked me what environment it would like to live in, I said, well, I think it likes where it’s at. So he decided maybe taking it home for a pet would not really be a good idea.
But we counted seeds that were sprouting, stopped with 24 spinach sprouts
and a bunch of beets, but you have to really look closely–they’re a beautiful maroon color:
lots of snow peas
indigo, cilantro, basil, romaine
and this: Wing of Spring. Experimenting with different ways to hang the cloth.
following thread 
ha ha! hadn’t heard that expression before, I lived with a plumber’s son for a few years back in the 80’s in a pretty handmade house with lots of fruit trees, chickens, a cow & a horse, he was a very gentle jack of all trades sort of man who could also play a mean bass line, thanks for the memories! (we get many lifetimes in this one life ahe?)
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that we do! ah, plumbers. what would we do without them? and memories as well…glad you stopped by here.
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fixing plumbing. YES. there is an exhillaration to it. but i think
they do enjoy too, that cool breeze.
but the boy. the boy and the worm. THIS just fills me with such
soft joy. that he is out there, alone, with a worm, and wanting to
understand it. Thank you so much for this. it feeds me.
i love the clothsline of this. for this cloth it is perfect. just perfect.
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you understand. you understand so much. yes. the boy and worm are the heart of this.
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so i am waiting for your further thoughts about the hanging methods.
???????
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