At the bottom of our driveway is a little corner of the property called Big R's man triangle. It's relatively void of anything....frilly, fru-fru, or flowery. It's a man's triangle. Full of bark, mulch rot, two trees, his rock, and a bush. (Don't think the irony is lost on me.) The mulch rot is so disgusting to me that my skin is actually crawling just typing about it. He stole his rock from 'somewhere'. Says that it's best not to share with me where he got the rock, because then i'd tell people. I laugh at that because he's the first person to tell people that he stole the rock and from whom he stole it. To him it's like a badge of honor. People drive by, look at the rock and can tell which number the house is - but for Big R it's not that kind of badge. It's more like when a kid takes a steamy dump in the toilet and needs to get validation from his parents that a crap that huge really does represent the mark of achievement. Or, the way a juicy fart is the mark of valor for teenage boys. Something about the rock says M-A-N to Big R.
To me the rock represents the place on the property where the annual halloween pumpkin and bucket'o'mums are placed. Each year I try to find a perfectly round, orange pumpkin and a beautiful blooming plant of yellow and red mums. Once I find them, Big R and I put them down by the rock. (I'm sorry, what I mean to say is that Big R carries them from the car and for the next 45 minutes follows my instructions.) I never carry the pumpkin or the plant. For one thing the pumpkin is too heavy; but most importantly, there's dirt on it. More often than not, by the time we purchase the mums they have just been watered to excess. I have no interest in getting dirty at the cost of being festive. HA! Besides, this is how Big R and I spend time together. I don't want to take away something so precious.
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