Garden, Language and Business Update (Tail End of April 2013)

      A San Francisco old-timer recently told me that the transients seek to consume this city while the tried-and-true seek to build it. Consumption has become the American past-time in this most American of cities but we've also been on a building spree (as evidenced by the slanted spines of cranes along Market Street). Richard Florida, the new urbanist, would pat us on the back as a premier lifestyle city that is making space for the depressing concept of twitter apartments while nabbing the title of happiest city in America. But, surely, there's more to this place than laughter on the street and hunger in the fog.
 
     Casting the world into producers and consumers has always seemed an impoverished division to me. Deep down, in my writer's vanity, I've subscribed to a third class of humans: that of connectors/interpreters.

Right: Patio Garden

 
      Gardening has become one way to interpret what seeds might need and connecting them to the elements. In my attempts to foster this growth, I'm finding out what types of green species are served by the mild-flavored conditions up Saint Francis's sleeve:

     To wit, I've overseen the following:

• Growin' gangbusters: Arugula, carrotts, cilantro, onions, wisteria and lavender!
• Slow but steady progress: warm-colored bell peppers, lemons, rose bush and oregano.
• Epic Fail: Hibiscus and potted California Poppies.

      I goofed on the California State Flower. Like its citizens, the California Poppy doesn't tolerate confined spaces. The hibiscus too rejected my honest efforts. It requires more of a hothouse atmosphere than a pacific sea breeze (methinks).
      Arugula on the other hand simply brushes up against the fog and springs forth by the bushel. And it's so yummy! Somehow I missed the arugula craze of the 1990's but I've become a serious convert; this is a sharp lettuce that can star in its own role as salad leader or even flirt as a side act to an artichoke-based pasta sauce. Mauricio doesn't care too much for the beanpole Italian variety; instead vying for the zippier, more prolific Wild Arugula.

Left: Italian Arugula

   
      The growing season is ridiculously long here. Last winter, we had lettuce continuing to sprout into December. So it's safe to say that, since Groundhog day, our patio garden has made some real strides. I've liberally added crushed eggshell (for calcium) and coffee grounds (for nitrogen) to the soil of each of my babies. I anxiously await the carrot and onion harvest.

LANGUAGE

      A true interpreter loves to play with language. Each day for fun, I pop in a "Behind the Wheel" Italian language CD as I pick up the dogs. M. has a good foundation of La Bella Lingua so he's helping me to steer my pronounciation. Spanish and Italian share an 82% lexical similarity, meaning that 82% of what is uttered by an Italian speaker will be familar music to Spanish ears. And musical it is. Italian has a pleading rhythm to it. Every sentence is like begging a lover to stay with you forever; not only through the sweet nothing vowels but also the longing tone and come hither stresses.
      I'm also continuing with my Spanish at home with Mauricio. We recently checked out a number of books on Chile including a compilation on Chilean poets, Madwomen by Gabriela Mistral and the essays and musings of Ariel Dorfman, a Chilean intellectual who now teaches at Duke University. Mistral is Chile's leading lady poet who is also a lesbian. Her face is featured on Chile's paper currency (the 5000 peso note).
     But it's Dorfman whom I've come to quickly admire. A Jewish man born in Argentina who richocheted for years between the U.S. and Chile, Dorfman writes beautifully about exile and language and torture and empire and longing. He talks about the two versions of September 11, one in 1973 in which General Augusto Pinochet staged his coup against Communist president, Salvador Allende and of course, our own in 2001. There's a generosity and accessibility in his writing that I find so attractive. Of course, I'm reading just his texts in English now, lacking the comprehension of great literary works in Spanish.

Left: Onions from early April

    In other English texts, I'm reading a delicious biography on the Clintons by another Duke guy, William H. Chafe called Bill and Hillary: The Politics of the Personal. I've also picked up Clean: Overcoming Addiction and Ending America's Greatest Tragedy by David Sheff and I'm hoping to tackle The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco.
     The San Francisco Public Library system is pretty stellar. They have special reading rooms divided by identity (a GLBT lounge, a Chinese lounge, African-American lounge, etc). You can check out up to 30 books at a time and they also have sundry educational programs and employment workshops. Their international collection blows Boston out of the water although its crown jewel is nowhere near as classic and handsome as the one in Copley Square.

    BUSINESS

    Starting July 1, the city of San Francisco is going to lay a heavy hand in regulating the Wild West dog-walking industry. Vehicles need to be inspected and new start-ups (like yours truly) will need to take 20 hours of dog-training to catch up with folks who've been working with animals for more than three years. No more than 8 dogs are permitted in a pack at any one time. The red tape will be costly but educational.
    Many of us in the business have mixed feelings about the new legislation. For this producer side of my personality, I cannot help but lean to the right in demanding the government leave me alone as I hustle to make my clients happy. Admittedly, however, the dogs do a lot of damage to city property and the fragile ecosystems along the coast.
     This is a time to rise to the occasion.
     In other news, I'm extending my service area to the Castro.

Left: Barney, windswept