Skip to main content

Journey into New Normal - Day who cares

I took a breather, got some work done, ended another school year, hit the road, changed chapters.  2020 continues to tumble us like we were Pleistocene river gravel in a lapidary drum. We ping around the side walls, make a lot of noise.

I have launched my epic road trip - big Western Loop for the next five weeks or so.  It appears that COVID is raging as a pandemic more than ever, the push for social evolution away from our racist roots is determined to make a crater in the status quo and the Trump regime continues to astonish and divide us. I will keep to the edges as I go.

 I knew before I left where my first stop would be.  Upon arrival to Judyth's, I walked onto her porch, knocked and when she came to the door, I asked, "How shall we meet?"  My hands were already prayerful at my heart.  Wordless, she flowed out, wrapping her arms around my waist, mine took their cue, enveloping her shoulders.  The reunion moment was a tall glass of water. I had carried more worry than I knew about her recovery from COVID.  Let that old viral wolf watch from his dream den. The elixir of our embrace confounded any intention of caution.  We told ourselves that his dark prints were long gone, blowing wide and away from here. And under a thirsty azure sky, the locals -Ponderosa pine, aspen, chipmunk, raven, hairy woodpecker, mule deer, black fox, Indian Paintbrush, lupine, golden banner, humming bird and black ant carried on as it we were some mirage.

I'd traveled twelve hours that day. The dawn relieved me of my front seat contortions, and I welcomed a stop in Nebraska for a late morning nap at a neglected local reservoir, buried deep within the agribusiness fields. I pushed on back-dropping the hours of prairie landscapes with my favorite podcasts. I took the hypotenuse to bisecting the northeast quadrant of Colorado. At Fort Morgan, with the apparitions of mountains in the afternoon light  telling me I was close, we stopped to stretch our legs. While my pup relieved himself with impunity, I had to become a bathroom detective, scanning the city parks for a public toilet. It was my first Colorado stop of the pandemic journey, and I came to find that there were none available.  In fact, I visited three city parks before I reconciled that my best relief option was to make tracks to a private corner of under-story or brush pile and squat. How glorious is such a simple act as emptying a full bladder. A piece of heaven.  I promised myself to be more mindful of using rest stop facilities whenever I could.

Judyth is moving closer to town.  Clearly, my visit has a mission -help her pack. Her place is full to brimming with precious things: a bit of gallery, a bit of temple and a whole lot of library. Every surface is occupied.  She has been frantic and for good reason. Called it divine directions, but thwarting the second law of thermodynamics is a favorite pastime of mine. We sat down and sorted the order of operation for this disassembly and packing, as she chose a mover, and then we leaned in. My daily routine is wonderful - coffee in the brisk Rocky Mountain morning air, sending her off to do her fairy camp assignment, taking Paddy for walk 1, doing a little writing, packing a half dozen boxes, lunch, taking a Arapaho National Forest hike or running an errand in town, then back to Judyth's to debrief with her on her camp day and settle into talking about the latest developments in our nation's insanity or social evolution, dinner making (always sumptuous) and then Rachel Maddox or a few episodes of Work in Progress or The Expanse. I'm acclimating to the new time zones.

Yesterday, I drove to Cub Creek Trail-head and set off for a morning ramble. Within the first thirty minutes, I realized that I forgot to bring water so it ended up being a short hike.  When we returned to the trail head and my car, Paddy dashed off toward a camp because there was another dog there.  Her people were stranded because of car trouble, and while the dogs scampered about the lot, I talked with them.  Their truck had transmission problems, unfortunate in this terrain, and one of them planned to walk into town to get transmission fluid and gas. Seeing how Paddy signaled to me that they were good people, I volunteered to give him a ride, it was a long hot walk to Walmart.  I got their story on the drive in - they'd just moved from the Dallas area to escape the malicious malfeasance of his sister, she sounded like a psycho case. They were still fairly young but both were disabled, and they came to Colorado so that he could get paid to be his wife's caretaker.  But they did need a place to live.  And a working vehicle, I thought. I mentioned how difficult this already tough situation must be in this time of Corona-virus.  He said, "Shit, I forgot to get a mask." I had some extra and as I dropped him off at the Walmart curb, I gave him one and some money for a ride back.  Paying it forward, I told him, as I counted my blessings once again.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Covid19 Journey Day 27

April 17, 2020 Today’s celebration – Last May I attended the annual school fundraising gala.   Browsing the items on the silent auction tables, I found nothing that that stirred my avarice, so I took another tack and decided to find things that I could have fun with or devise pleasure from, as a way to justify some necessary opening bids.   There was an impressive box of chocolate bars with a couple bottles of red on which I entered the first bid, and I paused at a wooden crate with another pair of wines, nice glasses and a gift certificate for a charcuterie tray.   The vintner of the Pinot Noir and Chardonnay was Kosta Browne. Without a thought of the initial bid being the winning bid, I scratched my offer on line #1 - $150. I did covet a set of hand thrown mugs from our headmaster’s wheel, but found my bid lost in the healthy bid escalations.   By the end of the evening though, I was the winner of the box of wine and chocolate and the two bottles of Kosta Browne.   Once at home

Temerity

Helen holds hands with thunderheads. It helps when she's weak in the knees, lightning running down abductors, running down bones. Even temple guards succumb to such days, soft as pillows - scarlet velveteen on silk sheets.  Pink cyclamen bells the air, and Helen cut her traces. Bridget dreams the summer wind.  Its susurrate moan rises in waves, swells with tides of sandalwood to chariot the night.  She spins rhapsody around its howl,  dawns a golden jet stream  on spangled festoons of cirrus. Weak knees fly off with yellow wind,  before Bridget stills the night.   Sicily wets her lips with limoncello, quells the rabble of heartache, the clatter of waiting.  She rings goblets like temple bells, makes a sound map for lost days. Her boat of pink sand brims in blood oranges and cyclamen. Lightning festoons the rabble, Sicily finds Helen’s hand.

The Red Coat

You believe in open society, big dreaming and serendipity! You got perspective - a rock cairn with prayer flags. What did it take to pack up home and family, to travel treacherous miles - thousands, to be a stranger in a partisan land? This is the story of your grandmothers, your story too, without the peril. Bold hearts learn to swim with trouble. At 12, your Yankee mother sent you to join the school walk out of Southern Segregation. You were happy to buck the system, happy for new friends. Fraternizing with these kids fattened a fringe - cushioned the mean gibes of local cliches and clans. You linked arms, to carry a fine truth dancing between you: Life is unkind, life is a mission, life is a mercy. Your mother was sixteen when the H-bomb dropped on Hiroshima. Did New England air shake with wails that ricocheted across the night from Nippon to Narragansett? The sirens and howls, the hungry ghosts when they nipped the Nipponese. At sixte