Ten Minute Drill

“So are you working hard?  Busy?” asks one of my few living cousins, now in her ninth decade.  She means, I suppose, ‘are you still delusional?’   I tell her cheerfully that I’m working hard and busy, I describe the marketing and this week’s well-received unveiling of the new pitch I’ve been working on all summer.  I explain breezily that I’m currently focused on marketing, a necessity my team would have been working on all along, if I had a team.  The program itself runs very smoothly, done over 100 times now all over, without a glitch.   She likes this, a retired teacher, does not sneeze at it.  Tactfully avoids asking if I’ve made a dime in 2015, usually her husband’s second or third question.

“Still working alone?” she asks, and I cheerfully tell her that, except at the sessions themselves where I have assistants, yes, still delusional.

“And how is Sekhnet?” she asks cheerfully, and we’ve successfully negotiated the minefield of my difficult mission.  Now we are in the lush backyard farm that farmer Sekhnet lovingly tends for hours every day, before and after her long hours at work.  I can see that colorful oasis spread out under the window.  A paradise of color and deliciousness, brought forth from the dirt.  

Then, after talking about the organic fruits of this magical garden, and the health it brings, we’re on to raccoons, possums, feral kittens.  They have them too, in New Jersey and the Berkshires, plus a litter of baby skunks and their mother.  Luckily for everybody the mother skunk took her babies and left the garden after a while, there would be no need for any violence against them, just as the exterminator had predicted.

Downstairs almost all the components for garden fresh sauce are prepped, waiting in their metal bowls for the first pop of garlic in the olive oil and then the sauce making begins.   Sekhnet is out buying onions, we’ve used up the ones she grew this season.  I have to go down and pick some fresh oregano (delicious), chop it, get it ready for the sauce.  Two large bowls of perfectly ripe tomatoes, red, yellow and green, all zipped out of their skins, wait patiently for the Saucier to begin.

Life moves at its own pace, if you can walk calmly and excitedly with it, you’re blessed.  Ideas take time to germinate, must ripen into action.   At least this is what I have been philosophically brushing into my drawing book lately.  If you are in something for the long haul you must develop a philosophy that helps and doesn’t hurt your chances.  

That said, I need to get a few hours in punching the heavy bag of revising the pitch, starting on the next one, much shorter and sweeter, showing the fun and the therapeutic value of working in a creative team helping each other animate ideas, still objects miraculously taking life on a colorful screen while cancer waits impatiently outside, ready to continue its assault, pissed off to be outside waiting to return to the center of the merciless universe.  

A good thing, I believe, keeping that killer waiting in the hall for a while as kids and their families get a break, play, have some goddamn fun.  Now I just have to sell the excellent means I’ve invented to do that.

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