The Assistant
Writing those words yesterday's entry threw me into a panic attack.
I normally don't bother with the mow-whack men. Yes, I know women can run mowers and weed whackers, too, but women smart enough to handle the gender politics can generally find more profitable careers. I outgrew my lawn mowing career before weed whackers were invented. In my eye today's mow-whack men are just another street gang taking candy from babies. I miss the industrious youngsters who used to push their parent's mower around the neighborhood looking for spending money. They are generally not good for much more than a straight, Jones Standard machining. Their knowledge of plants is typically limited to "weed" and nursery stock. They wouldn't know a wild medicinal plant if they were standing on top of it. I find that more excusable in a twelve year old than a forty year old.
This particular mow-whack man found me some odd weeks ago in a moment when I needed help finishing up and cleaning up after the the clover and sweetgrass harvest. He was game to working without his mighty machines, so I took him on. After a few days, I talked to him about a regular, part-time gig of helping me get the pharmacopia on line. That was last week.
End of simplicity. By the time I wrote the closing statement in yesterday's journal, I was paying him $15/hr for the privileges of driving him on his errands, negotiating advances/repayments, etc., etc. He showed up for work soon after I finished yesterday's entry and immediately began renegotiating anew. Enough. My silly little dream was feeling like a delusion of grandeur next to all the extra negotiations. Steve Jobs I ain't.
I think I let him go without hard feelings. I let the 30 minutes work he did yesterday clean the slate of the $30 he owed me. He wanted $40 cash to carry, buttttaaa... $140/hr is quite the pay raise for such a short relationship.
The silly little dream of growing medicinal quality herbs is still intact. I think I was just jumping the gun a bit with the assistant idea. The reality of it is not yet developed enough to handle outside stresses.
I normally don't bother with the mow-whack men. Yes, I know women can run mowers and weed whackers, too, but women smart enough to handle the gender politics can generally find more profitable careers. I outgrew my lawn mowing career before weed whackers were invented. In my eye today's mow-whack men are just another street gang taking candy from babies. I miss the industrious youngsters who used to push their parent's mower around the neighborhood looking for spending money. They are generally not good for much more than a straight, Jones Standard machining. Their knowledge of plants is typically limited to "weed" and nursery stock. They wouldn't know a wild medicinal plant if they were standing on top of it. I find that more excusable in a twelve year old than a forty year old.
This particular mow-whack man found me some odd weeks ago in a moment when I needed help finishing up and cleaning up after the the clover and sweetgrass harvest. He was game to working without his mighty machines, so I took him on. After a few days, I talked to him about a regular, part-time gig of helping me get the pharmacopia on line. That was last week.
End of simplicity. By the time I wrote the closing statement in yesterday's journal, I was paying him $15/hr for the privileges of driving him on his errands, negotiating advances/repayments, etc., etc. He showed up for work soon after I finished yesterday's entry and immediately began renegotiating anew. Enough. My silly little dream was feeling like a delusion of grandeur next to all the extra negotiations. Steve Jobs I ain't.
I think I let him go without hard feelings. I let the 30 minutes work he did yesterday clean the slate of the $30 he owed me. He wanted $40 cash to carry, buttttaaa... $140/hr is quite the pay raise for such a short relationship.
The silly little dream of growing medicinal quality herbs is still intact. I think I was just jumping the gun a bit with the assistant idea. The reality of it is not yet developed enough to handle outside stresses.
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