In a jar, fireflies only last for one night.

The thing about living here is that El Jefe gets a new crazy idea almost every day. They're not crazy crazy ideas, I guess, but the speed at which plans must gather to implement these ideas is a bit crazy.

Yesterday's crazy plan was fruit trees, no doubt brought on by our own lovely blossoming pear tree and the general spring-in-the-air-edness of things. So now I'm scrambling to get a mini-orchard's worth of assorted vigorous fruit trees together so they can be planted this week, before things get too advanced in terms of budding and growing.

The most difficult thing is that he wants trees that will fruit this year. I tried to tell him that it takes a couple years after you plant them for most fruity arbors to come to bear, but he could only say:

"Couple fucking years! I'll be dead then! Fuck that."

So I found a pear tree consisting of four varieties that the nurseryman swears is getting ready to fruit this year. That should hold him until the apples and plums are ready next year or the year after.

I hope.

However, all this push on the time means I am probably going to have to spend most of tomorrow and/or Wednesday out in the yard, pulling out smaller non-delicious trees and bushes and transplanting some of the bulbs in front of the picture window, where the four-pear should be going.

But not today.

Today I have a whole day of wonderful worky-work ahead of me, and my "formal offer" should be rolling in. Sweet.

. . .

I'm gonna sleep on the train tracks
It's gonna be peaceful
Then it's gonna get rough

--Rhett MIller, "Fireflies"