Our Little Secret Garden...

Folk #1: My partner & I are as Pete Townshend sings on Who's Next: "air-conditioned Gypsies." Marginal characters living in a very wealthy, blue-bubble, super-progressive, Midwestern town.  We often roam the neighborhood with our furry, four-legged buddies, and also serve as caretakers at some of the finest homes on the Lakefront. We seem to float above our own humble existence, living in mansions with all the amenities known to the progressive, enlightened wealthy. We are from the "working stiffs," class, basically comfortable, but really, mostly living paycheck to paycheck. Sometimes we feel we can defy gravity, but it's just delusion. 

Anyway, a three day weekend, living in the lap of luxury, my partner and I spent most of yesterday luxuriating in our own little secret garden, surrounded by an impressive stone wall, and filled with beautiful greenery and flowers. A little slice of heaven, especially when the sun is shining down like a benevolent god, bathing us in it's welcoming warmth, with a massive blue sky lording over us. 

We had music on the box, the Japanese band, Mono, the Irish band, Fontaines D.C.  the Canadian expat band, Neil Young & Crazy Horse,  the British band, The Rolling Stones. We engaged in long, rambling conversations about pretty much everything under the sun. It was pure joy. Easy to keep the wolves at bay. To tune out the B.S. To turn away from the ever-unraveling shit-show.