An English In Kentucky


















May 28th 2010    Tim Candler

    A revel in the misery of others, as often I do, can lack dignity.  However, in me this celebration may be motivated by an understanding that I am not alone.  Which could be why the saintly prefer to phrase it in terms which suggest cohesion and bonding found in that awful expression "I share your pain".

    In the anonymous mists that wander the technical ether, I have seen photographs of perfect seedlings.   I have read their boasting titles, and I have felt my toes curl.  And to my delight I have seen a photograph of seedlings under much greater duress than those unfortunates in my care.  This latter image straightened my back, gave bounce to my step and stiffened my resolve to issue those promises that join with enthusiasm to produce future purpose.   Next year there will be more ample forethought arranged around graphic representations which might permit fewer assumptions.   Or there will be a return to randomness, where flow and fault become one long contented line that snakes in an adventurous and carefree manner.  


    This longstanding dichotomy again follows so many failures of form designed to preserve orderliness.  This time it may have begun with perfect labels upon which written words became quickly invisible.  I now have no clue where Mystery Tomato or Steak Sandwich might be.  I don't know what "M" or "C" stands for.   But I recall with unnatural clarity precisely where Not Cherry is.   As well as these concerns that eat at being, there is obvious evidence of departure from previous promises.  My beans are too close together and again I can't find the heart to cull.  Yet in my notes I see five exclamation points beside "damn the pigeons PLANT the beans six inches apart".

     All are welcome.  The invitation to find solace in this misery is an open one.

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