Postcard
Mostly Angels now-a-days
Monday, April 22, 2002
Sunday I sat with Tom F. for a while and watched his garden. Bev is away a few days.
Most days Tom likes to sit in his garden, water it and watch lizards. He and Bev bought the place a few years ago with money from a Veterans Loan. They made a special arangement so that if an unforseen something happened to her, he would be allowed to live there the remainder of his days, and if he sells, he will split the profit for the sale between himself and Bev's daughters.
Their front yard has an advanced irrigation system with raised beds. Tom put in the flower beds with plastic liners, because Florida's climate is so dry that the soil does not retain water. He filled each bed with horse manure and mulched over top with crushed granite. Next he plans to wind a path of paving stones through the yard to reach all the beds. Tom is proud of the work he has done there. The flowers and the lizards along with Bev's country crafty touches make up an appealling whole. Tom likes to spend most of his day outside. At the far end of the property, he has a shed where he lives. Bev's decorative instincts take over inside, so Tom says that he lives in the shed: a dust clustered claustrophobogenic tangle of tools and unidentified implements. "I know exactly where everything is in here," he tells me. (He really does sleep inside with her, both in one bed, and they offer such a comfort for each other as Iago could never undermine.
Tom has often mentioned that Bev is somewhat older than he. For her life work, she taught elementary school and her diction and demeanor carry that stamp. For example Bev uses the pronoun "we" with and authoritarian gentleness that implies a consensus already achieved. (Bev would make a better candidate for FL governer than Janet Reno, imho.)
In contrast, Tom fought in the Vietnam war, ran underground imports throught the Carribean and worked construcution on the World Trade Center.
Most days Tom likes to sit in his garden, water it and watch lizards. He and Bev bought the place a few years ago with money from a Veterans Loan. They made a special arangement so that if an unforseen something happened to her, he would be allowed to live there the remainder of his days, and if he sells, he will split the profit for the sale between himself and Bev's daughters.
Their front yard has an advanced irrigation system with raised beds. Tom put in the flower beds with plastic liners, because Florida's climate is so dry that the soil does not retain water. He filled each bed with horse manure and mulched over top with crushed granite. Next he plans to wind a path of paving stones through the yard to reach all the beds. Tom is proud of the work he has done there. The flowers and the lizards along with Bev's country crafty touches make up an appealling whole. Tom likes to spend most of his day outside. At the far end of the property, he has a shed where he lives. Bev's decorative instincts take over inside, so Tom says that he lives in the shed: a dust clustered claustrophobogenic tangle of tools and unidentified implements. "I know exactly where everything is in here," he tells me. (He really does sleep inside with her, both in one bed, and they offer such a comfort for each other as Iago could never undermine.
Tom has often mentioned that Bev is somewhat older than he. For her life work, she taught elementary school and her diction and demeanor carry that stamp. For example Bev uses the pronoun "we" with and authoritarian gentleness that implies a consensus already achieved. (Bev would make a better candidate for FL governer than Janet Reno, imho.)
In contrast, Tom fought in the Vietnam war, ran underground imports throught the Carribean and worked construcution on the World Trade Center.
