A quick note before I begin: I’m not terribly far away from a “bestseller” badge from Substack. I don’t know what this little badge actually means, but it’s very cute, and I want it. I LIKE SWAG (one time I ran 32 miles for a beer mug and a t-shirt).
In the service of moving towards this goal at a pace faster than the snapping turtle I “helped” (harassed, got scared of, and gave up on) “across the road” (left in nearly the same spot but with the loudly spoken and stern wish that it would please move faster):
The next 10 people to upgrade to paid (remember, you can do it monthly ($6) and cancel any time) will get their choice of:
a) a free signed copy of my forthcoming chapbook of new poems (from Herring Alley Pamphlets, in the fall— but don’t worry, I’ll keep your name in my filing system of “stuff I write on take-out napkins” until then),
b) a curated book-list (tell me what you like and I’ll put together a personalized list of suggestions for books to ignore for the summer), OR
c) a delicious can of beans (you pay postage).
*If you recommend a friend and they sign up, you’re eligible for the beans, but only Navy or Pinto. Thanks for your understanding.
xo,
Caro
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Everybody likes to hear the story of the five-year-old who figures out how to run the electric mower and the next day has named his lawncare company by 6am (Fluffy Chickie Lawncare), helps his mother load the mower into the car, and proceeds to mow a friend’s downtown lawn before snack time.
But what about the supporting characters in such tales? Too often they are lost in the shuffle.
Today I want to sing the song of the friend who sauntered through her front lawn just as the child was finishing the last strip of grass and setting about mowing the driveway and asked, “want your first corporate gig?” — to which we replied “yes!” of course— and then continued on, across the neighboring parking lot, into the paint store, where she secured the child not only his next job and two fawning paint store workers as joyful witness to his rather earnest efforts, but also, later, the stickers and tie-dye kids’ T-shirts that constituted his first-ever payment for his services.
For her shrewd and magnanimous networking, I hereby bestow upon one A.R.M. a Lawncare Dreams Assist Award.
When it comes to my daughter’s ridiculously charming drawn/written renderings, everyone knows this pixie’s stupendously adorable. Come on, folks, don’t just go for the obvious. Everyone wants to gnaw on that lil gumdrop of flesh topped with gravity- and logic-defying floof.
But have you considered the labor of the tired and despairing parents here? No, we’re not as cute, but we, too, deserve recognition. Just think how Captain Dad has