Shouldn't…but Do

Fog reminded me of California.

Coastal morning fog, hugging trees, houses, the shoreline.  Not pea soup – but still humid, cloaking.

Morning commute, fog does not deter that crowd.  Sideline erasure renders a homogenous world.  Emphasis on destination, not journey.   A thousand lives, a thousand faces.  Tense 30-something in the crosswalk, relaxed 50-something waiting for a bus.

Any place, any day, decades  beyond or ago – the same lives pass by,  same frustrations lived.  Fog is a great leveler.

California freeways, semi-tropical, moving along, moving through – going somewhere, sometimes out of the fog.

Then and now fog burns off, detail returns, detachment subsides.  California dreaming.

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Captain Jack is a fine but elderly dog who lives with the Neighbor.

In his youth, Captain Jack was swarthy, mischievous, he of gleaming eye, longish legs and shaggy coat.  His youth and middle age have passed and Jack, like most of us, is not who he was.

Jack’s cocked head has given way to occasional trembling, eyes are clouded, his hearing imprecise.  Back bowed, Jack is frail, uncertain, thin – and to my reckoning – halfway between here and somewhere else.  The Neighbor and her family are the best friends a dog could have, and as she says, Jack has good days and Jack has bad days.

Good or bad – today is a glorious day on the planet for dog or human.  Spring is coming, robins abound,  temperatures are rising, the breeze rustles chaff anxious to be off.

The Neighbor was out for a few hours, so I attended Jack.  With encouragement he stepped from his soft bed in the quiet house with rhythmically ticking clocks.  He hesitated on the back deck blinking, seemingly unsure where he was, or what to do.  In time he took a cue from nature and did his business, mustering teetering energy to navigate his return to the deck.

And there he stood.  Birds swooped and cartwheeled, the breeze blew, the sun warmed his fragile being.   His unseeing gaze seemed a fence or two beyond, where younger dogs ran and barked.  Head swiveling toward the house and back, a seeming unspoken question to the sky.  The interiority of  age is upon Jack, as I imagine it is upon all who gain in years.   Jack  seems living a dream world – but which is the dream, here or there?

Perhaps interiority leads to a greater world, away from the illusory, structured, busy environment that captures our senses while they still function.  I am guessing it is so.  In the dreams of dogs, it seems so for Jack.

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Busy of late.  Measuring, pouring,  mixing words.  Storms pass, more to come.   But the road seems firm.  Even footing is good, steer clear of worn potholes glistening with flies, familiar stench.

In my neck of the woods winter has been mild.  What could have been snow today was rain – the story of the season.  Moisture delivered without treachery and transportation ill.

Now the sun is full out, sky is blue with high clouds kicking up at the rim of the horizon.  A large flock of crows caught my eye, heading north.  Smart birds those ones.

The light is long this afternoon, like a waning summer day, sepia tone overlay.  You know the look,  memory before your eyes.

What a gift to wander this world, walk its streets,  ride within a body that still works, feels deeply.

There is something to the light this afternoon – trying to tell me something.  What a gift to wander this world.

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Leaking water has long been a feature in my home.  Even  before the departure of X, bathroom faucets,  kitchen faucets, kitchen sink sprayer, water filter outlets, and outdoor hoses leaked incessantly.   Mostly they leaked  for months and years.  Occasionally, effort was made, and one leak would be stopped.

As time passed, and water and money drained away, I made friends with the drips and drops, tried to ignore the water bill, and resigned myself to forces beyond myself.  Like many, my financial status does not correlate with the cost of paid plumbing assistance.  With the effort toward divorce in the past several years, I was under water and accepted it.

Last summer I repaired each outdoor connection.  Last December, the bathtub faucet drip became a drum beat, difficult to ignore.  This January, the kitchen water filter, cartridges unchanged for years, let out a final  high-pitched whine before I shut it down for good on a Friday afternoon.  Remarkably, I was able to speak with a fellow that day who could replace the filter at a price I could afford – and he could do it the following Monday.

On Saturday, without prerequisite knowledge, I undertook the kitchen faucet after a motivational trip to the local hardware store.   Faith and YouTube prevailed and to my amazement, the kitchen faucet leaked no more.

With earnest naivete I tackled the bathtub faucet on Sunday.  Hours and several trips to the hardware store later, my repair yielded a bathtub faucet spewing water at high pressure when off.   End of day found me further under water than ever before.  A fast-thinking friend suggested returning the internal cartridge, and faucet, to their  previous condition – a move that proved so successful the bathtub faucet leaked no more.

On Monday, the fellow who installed the new water filter explored the leaking, mouldering seal around the kitchen sink drain.  Over the next two afternoons, this gracious guy helped me remove and install two new kitchen drains – all for the reduced wholesale price of the water filter and a  plate of cookies.

I learned a lot about leaks.  I learned faucets and switches not only provide access to natural resources, they hold them at bay.  Without the right fix – a strong, tight connection – the undefined stuff of water drowns out the senses and drives up expenses.  I learned old solutions sometimes work – when examined,  reinvented, suffered, and restored.  And I learned sometimes you can fix things by yourself – and sometimes you can’t.  Near or far, there are good folks around that can help.

There are no leaking faucets, drains, or hoses around my house at present.  First time in over a decade.  Nature – supply and demand – and the  fine line between on and off.  Regulation – a  good thing.

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Dawn over the strip mall.  Deep indigo sky, vibrant reflection in sheet ice over asphalt.  Blue above, blue below, a shock of pink apricot on the horizon.  Just for a few moments – wish you could have seen it.  Reason to be.

Cars roll up to the everlasting light of a nearby gas station, coffee, fuel.   Indigo to robin’s egg sky.  The day has begun.

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Of things gathered but not described, researched but not written.  Excerpts, pages, references and me – needing an organizing principle.  A work of life, of years, an effort frustrated and sidelined by the very events it foresaw and sought to explain.  Experience takes time.

The scratch again of pencil on paper, I am Home.

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