My friend Satoko said that when I first told her about my 100 Days campaign, she thought, "Hey, that won't be too bad."
Not BAD? WHAT!? "But... but...," I stuttered. "Don't you understand? 100 days... that's a lot. I mean, Jesus made it to the Bible for doing *his* thing in just 40 days!" Then again, he DID wander the wilderness, fast, pray, and get a personal visit from the Devil... Okay, no comparison. I suppose he earned his place in the Good Book.
But what about me? Granted, I haven't met the Devil yet. Then again, I think I've been hanging with the Devil for years, and that's why I need this 100 days thingie in the first place. To get him behind me.
Now, anyone who reads the commentary on this thing may have noticed Peig's recent comment. She said that summer is killing her. How to maintain a daily practice with family visits, no AC, hot days, cold beer?
THAT'S the devil *I'm* talking about right there: the one who tempts us not to play. Jesus met the dude once, in the dark, and plus he was starving and probably hallucinating. But us? We would-be Every Day Practicers meet the Goateed One every day. He's the guy that tells us, at the end of the day when we haven't had a moment to practice, "Ah, you're tired. Fuggedabout it. Just go to bed."
Sometimes we meet him in the morning, too. Like today. Just this morning, when I should have been practicing, he met me at the fridge. He leaned on the door, took a long drag of his clove ciggy, exhaled, and sighed through a smoke ring. "You do know that you have 50 lbs. of zucchini in your fridge, right? Not to mention four heads of lettuce, three peppers, two bunches of kale, and four quarts of blueberries... And that's not even counting the zucchini on the counter, which (if you haven't noticed) has been hanging out fairly intimately with the yellow squash, and I think they're multiplying. Or maybe that's just a bunch of green bananas I see..."
Lord, forgive me. I could not resist his temptation. I freaked out. I started cooking.
Zucchini goulash. Zucchini chocolate cake. Summer squash fritters. Two blueberry pies. Green pepper cupcakes. Corn on the cob freeze pops.
And that, dear God, is why at 9:00 PM, just when I'd gotten my little one down to bed, I almost let the old fork-tailed one in again.
"Pretty tired, huh?" he smirked.
"Yes. Yes I am," I said. "But can I meet you for a beer in about an hour? I gotta run down to the basement and practice. I'll be right back." I left and didn't turn for a second look.
Funnily enough, when I came back upstairs, he was gone.