Boredom liquefies the brain. We are not only social animals but working ones. Don’t let the stereotype of slack-jawed youth fill your head–today’s young ones are energetic and ready to do their part! Already at one and a half, Number Two sets himself to tasks with the steady gaze and seriousness of a young communist. Together forward to a greater good! After I pick him up from school and we enter the front yard, I shut the front gate and our little rusted Himalayan bells ring to signal the afternoon work shift. Number Two squirms to be let down so he can commence his job which, as far as I can tell because he can’t talk yet, consists of moving wheeled objects around the yard. That wagon there? It belongs over by the dirt pile, comrade. I will take this task on myself, he says with a dismissive wave, you fill out the paperwork for the High Committee.
Please note the feast-famine dividing line of our front walk. The herb bed on the left is irrigated so the mint is on a non-stop breathless growth spurt. The grass on the right died when the rains stopped a few months ago, sent up some seed pods that harpoon into every piece of fabric within ten feet, and even those were ground into dust. Life and death with a narrow DMZ between–there must be a story in that somewhere. But here I am telling stories during work time! Together we will sing inspirational songs for the fatherland while we labor! Number Two now must fill plastic tubs with gravel and dump them out, then push the wagon in worrying acceleration toward the gate like a battering ram. With a crash and reverberation of the entire gate and fence the time is announced to go on an afternoon wagon ride around the neighborhood. Labor is made refreshing by a tour of the countryside, no? Climb aboard, brother, we are spreading the message to the Proletariat!