02/25/01

Percy and I found Swami Hard Salami yesterday surveying the grounds of his latest real estate purchase in Newburgh, this Victorian mansion on Montgomery Street overlooking the Hudson. Swami’s hoping to put in 4 apartments. With Hill Country Cornelia’s carpentry help of course. Place looks pretty stately from a distance, but once you get up close you can see the ravages of time. I told Cornelia she can come back and farm for me anytime, joked I wouldn’t work her anywhere near as hard Swami has been working her. Cornelia acknowledged she sure missed being on the land, said she sure wished she had a place to grow a garden.

Swami hears all this talk and gets nervous, his fancy talk mode kicks in. He says to Cornelia, there’s enough yard here, I will let you grow a garden here if you’d like. I assure you, you will be rewarded for your steadfast service with your own lush riparian oasis of the proportion of Eden!

So we all stroll alongside Swami across the side yard as he continues to placate Cornelia with visions of her own lush riparian oasis of the proportion of Eden and I noticed this slightly sunken-in place in the yard, the area of a few square feet.

That’s where the shitter was, I say, bet you there’s a bunch old bottles from the 1800’s down there worth a pretty penny.

I don’t know why Swami was so confused but he says: So you’re saying, they put these bottles worth money into the shit?

I had to spell it out to Swami I was talking about bottles that were worth next to nothing when they were thrown away---I’ve heard it said the ones found in old outhouse shafts are usually liquor bottles husbands tried to keep from their wives knowledge--- but would now be worth a lot to collectors because they‘ve become so rare. I explained because outhouse bottles were buried in wet shit they usually remain intact and well preserved. Now it would just be a matter of digging down and getting them out.

Percy is all ecstatic. I‘m not sure how the digging through ancient human feces part fails to temper his enthusiasm, but he exclaims: digging out this outhouse shaft for old bottles would be the perfect activity for the Mythopoetic men’s group! Wouldn’t you say, Doctor?

I guess maybe that’s the lush riparian oasis of the proportion of Eden being talked about ---the shithouse shaft. Let’s have at it, men!

Anyway, Phebe tells me today if she goes through with hiring an attorney to fight for custody of Mookie, I better plan to move back into the house and make a good show of it. God forbid the judge ever finds out we don’t always get along so well.

Rocky’s attorney has got us worried about prospects now. He says the fact that Rocky admits to stomping his attacker’s head and neck after the guy had been knocked down won‘t bode well for him. I told Phebe if anything, we should be worried about a new attorney for Rocky before we start worrying about going to trial in a custody case, but of course she says she couldn‘t disagree with me more.

If I talk to a new attorney, it won’t be about your son or grandson, believe me, she says.

Home sweet fucking trailer.