On Hot Dogs

The other day I bought lumber. I was tired and angry and hungry, but I told myself I could get through this to get the coveted Depot Dog. I don't fully understand the internet’s obsession with these things but a hot dog's a hot dog and I needed a hot dog. Unfortunately, they were all out of food, I guess their brief close for quarantine was enough to get everyone to come back when it reopened. So I left still hungry but with a shit load of lumber. 

The person helping me out was nice enough but insisted on inserting himself into my project. 

“What do you need?”

“I need lumber this wide and this long.”

“Whoa, what are you making?”

“A raised bed for a garden.”

“Whoa, let’s draw this out.”

I already had it all figured out. I already knew what I needed. I already asked for what I wanted, but he insisted on working it through. But honestly, he did help and he was nice. So I guess I can’t get too mad. 

At this point, I have a bunch of untreated birch sitting in our back room, smelling up the whole place. Soil should be coming soon. And in the next two or so weeks, I should be building up a garden for early spring. 

It’s very calming to me to have this planed out. At a time when I feel the chaotic pressure bearing down on me. My world stopped, my industry closed, my “living wage” disappeared. But this raised bed feels like a handhold in the storm. I’m being picked up by the heavy winds, but I can reach out and grab onto pocket of serenity and security that is freshly grown vegetables.