100 Proof » Kind of true

California line

The Inadvertent Gardener — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 16:53:29 +0000

Before the ride, one operator took my picture, though I protested I was not a tourist. You’re so beautiful, he said. And you’re getting on the cable car. I should definitely take it.

It is the best of the lines, we agree, though the operators claim people who live in town never appreciate the cable cars as much as the tourists.

I do, I say. I wish I could ride them more often.

And with that, they begin the work of moving the car up the California Street hill, gliding, like magic, on a perpetual river of metal.

Filed under: Kind of true

We know you will soar*

The Inadvertent Gardener — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 06:00:54 +0000

At each departure, we hope for directions, guidance beyond the edge that marks one journey’s end, another’s beginning. We wish for clear signs and easy exits.

But no one has yet discovered how to map thin air—there are no paths to follow when one takes a brave, necessary leap. There is only the net that appears, made of many hands, some familiar, some yet-unknown.

The owners of those interwoven hands whisper, We know you will soar. They whisper, We will catch you if you need us. They whisper, We will see you very, very soon.

* To Jen Maiser, for this next beginning.

Filed under: Kind of true

Hog brain

The Inadvertent Gardener — Sat, 12 Nov 2011 17:10:24 +0000

In the tire store waiting room, the television blared an interview with a woman who eats mostly roadkill she finds near her home.

What? said the other man waiting with me. What? He began to laugh loudly—he was still in that jolly place that lasted the mechanic came to tell him he needed to replace all four tires.

How does a person develop a taste for roadkill? he said. Her brain just turned into a hog brain.

Filed under: Kind of true

From bad to naughty

The Inadvertent Gardener — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 16:53:14 +0000

This group has been having dinner together for 20 years, he said. We used to meet for cocktails at 8, then have dinner at 9.

He looked down at his drink, then up at the clock on the wall of the bar.

These days, we meet for cocktails at 7, he said. We used to be bad. Now, we’re just naughty.

Filed under: Kind of true

Rye cocktail

The Inadvertent Gardener — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 18:10:05 +0000

You want to go with something dry? asked the bartender. With mezcal? Weird? Great?

I would like something weird AND great, I said. Just tell me what it is when you’re done.

Filed under: Kind of true

The game

The Inadvertent Gardener — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 04:05:23 +0000

You get one question, he said. Don’t fuck it up.

I looked back toward the city, and watched the lights twinkling in the distance. Over there, it was so loud, but there on the blanket, all I could hear was my own heart beating.

How do I create balance in the places where I need it? I finally asked.

He waited a long time before answering.

You have to give up on the idea that there’s a right and a wrong way to do things, he said. Now repeat it back to me so I know you’ll remember.

Filed under: Kind of true

Fissures

The Inadvertent Gardener — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 00:26:51 +0000

The alkalinity fissured the tips of my fingers, gouged gaps between skin and skin that left me fumbling with zippers and buttons. They healed to thick dots just beneath the surface, as legible as Braille. If you read them, they would speak of survival, of joy, of hope for the coming year. They are as permanent as tattoos, but as invisible as change.

Filed under: Kind of true