It is raining. I choose this day for the gardening.
I have always wanted a big backyard. A place where kids can play and where I can sit under the apple trees.
Now I have it. A place where kids can play hide and seek and I have no time to sit under the apple trees, where the kids are hiding. Obviously.
I have a huge garden full of Bishop's weed, Quackgrass and nettles. Suddenly I realize the essential idea of the container garden.
A wants to play croquet. He finds one mallet and uses J 's hand as a ball. J wanted to take a look at the spider sitting on the rock,
but we are soon looking at the spider smashed on the rock and a very purple finger instead.
I'm staring at the telly and can't believe what I see. I want to share this once-in-the-lifetime experience with somebody, but the whole village is sleeping.
Even the street lights are off. One man drives an old Cadillac far in the distant and shouts hard rock hallelujah. I live in the very hip and groovy place, obviously.
It is a sunny day. I choose this day to see what should be done with the house.
There is a hole in the roof, the stairs are broken, the house needs painting, the floor of the sauna is broken and
the outhouse is almost collapsed during the winter. Suddenly I realize the essential idea of the Ikea BoKlok house.
A wants to play the snake charmer and uses the water hose as the snake. J's head is too close, unfortunately.
Sauna. The cubs test what happens when you pour a bottle of shampoo on the hot sauna oven.
They are pretty amazed to see how fast the white liquid turns to be the black smoke.
It is a hot day. I choose this day to dig a ditch. The house stands on the clay soil. Suddenly I realize the essential idea of the asphalt surface.
J wants to play baseball (the Finnish version). He seems to be very good at it. A wants to pick all the balls. No broken fingers, no crashed windows,
no dead pedestrians. I am still amazed.
We sit in the hot car in the overcrowded motorway. I miss the countryside living already.
About my non-existent book - I’ve long been fascinated by the saga of Jim Crace’s Useless America, a book that never existed but, thanks to a typing error or a misheard phone call or...
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