This morning, I stepped out of my front door to go to work, and was promptly greeted by a yard filled with men. HOW EXCITING. It's about time men flock to my house. Okay fine, back to reality.
The landscaping crew was rolling in to work, as I was rolling out. I admit to being as anxious, as I am excited, about this project. I would love to sneak home and do a creeping drive by, rubber necking all the way past the house, and back again. About ten passes should satisfy my curiosity. Better yet, I would love to be sitting on the porch, watching them work, so I could give my input along the way. But, no, I have to work to pay for them to work. I have to let go and trust the Universe, the landscaper and his immigrant workforce, few of whom apparently speak even the most basic of English. Unfortunately, I don't function on full brain circuitry in the mornings, so Spanish class was nothing but a distant memory for me. But, I'm not so brain dead in the morning, that I don't attempt basic civility. So, when passing the fellows on my way to the car, I said "Good Morning," which appeared to fall on deaf ears. It was then, that I realized they spoke no English. I searched for the Spanish version of "Good morning" in my brain, but for the life of me, I could not remember that simple phrase. How hard is it to remember "Buenos Dias" for Pete's sake? Hard enough I guess ... C'est la vie!!!
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