Almost Sad

Well, it is done - I have vanquished the pile of gravel in my yard. And, like a remorseful big game hunter who has just gunned down the last hairless beaked gnunnel left in the wild, I sort of wish I hadn't.

Not that I was in love with the pile. Nor were the pile and I really friends. The sight of the pile didn't fill my heart with desperate yearning, nor did it greet me in the mornings with a hearty "Howdy, neighbor! Pull up a chair and set a spell!" It was more European than that. I'd look out the window and the pile would say "Ah, Herr Doktor, I see that you haven't yet slipped into the cold sleep of death." And I would screw in my monocle and say "Ja, Herr Pile, dat vich does not kill me makes me schtronger. Und vun day, you'll experience an involuntary Anschluss mit the rest of my front yard." And the pile would emit a cold, sinister laugh.

No, our relationship wasn't very friendly. We weren't even at the point where we exchanged Christmas cards or wan, insincere birthday greetings. But we didn't hate one another either. Mostly it was a combination of mild European contempt and benign lack of interest. (The difference between mild European contempt and mild American contempt, it occurs to me, is that mild American contempt generally involves cursing while the European variant doesn't. I don't have a problem with cursing, but having been brought up on a steady diet of Alistair MacLean spy novels, I prefer my contempt cool and reserved, thank you very much.)

Well, the Anschlussing is complete. The pile and my front yard are now one, and I find myself somewhat at sea. Toward what do I now direct my mild European contempt? I'm sure I'll think of something. If nothing else, I have a sudden profusion of cardboard boxes that need to be cut up and stuffed into the trash can. It's hard to work up proper contempt for cardboard. It's so fundamentally harmless and defenseless that it's like feeling contempt for a manatee - it just doesn't seem fair. A friend of mine in high school once described that as being like "stepping on a puppy's head" - it's wrong, and it's unsporting to boot. But since cardboard is all I have for the time being, it'll have to do.

Cardboard boxes of the world, tremble.