“The cat likes the toggles on my zippers, also my necklace & most unfortunately in the middle of the night, the power supply of my computer cord, or any foot switch to a device similar in weight, to a dead mouse. He’s not the only one who attacks me, or my things, naively. I admit, I was taken unawares by a falling object recently, one that I, myself, had balanced precariously atop a cupboard. If you know dimension lumber, you’ll recognize the heft of a 2x8 lumber scrap, regardless of whether or not the word “YURT” is hand painted onto it. Far below, my intent to shove a six pack of paper towels between two shelves, proved destined for complications. The word “YURT” hit me from above & stunned me, but somehow it was the threat of a goose egg on my brain that put me within spitting distance of the old GE fridge, in a flash. I had that ice pack applied before you could say: “Carl”. This quickness of action & general wisdom I attribute to having been the parent of a child who played with gigantic roof icicles. Didn’t try to assess the damage, didn’t figure it would help to know. Not until days later, when I brushed bird seed off my head, & felt a huge scab of congealed blood. Wounded significantly it turns out, thanks to my paper products. Despite the things I take modest pride in, this interlude deflated a host of lingering pretensions. “Nature’s Choice” paper towels, go figure. Narrowly taken down & to my maker, by towelettes. You can put that in my obituary. It would not stand out as anything unusual, in so far as my life has gone awry. Anything, and everything is nearly fatal. Otherwise, I’m thankful for this life. None of us is going to outlast it. And I feel it with conviction, that our temporary condition will be better than the sum of its parts. We’re here to do a job. That’s 101, in my book. What we do here is beyond influential, it’s epic. You just feel like a schlub. But it’s not objectively true. The human race is the most hippest thing on the planet. Better than Betas, Binas, Bytes or Bots. What we make out of acorns, pipe cleaners, shoe boxes & twigs, is the Harry Potter secret formula that fuels our Titan, Vermont village. Knowing how to tarp down a pile of building materials, get a wood pile stacked, fix a generator, unfreeze a frozen pipe, or help out strangers on the side of the road, those skills are super powers. They won’t ever go out of style. But what I meant to report, is that the rivers are still high. And, if I had my own pair of waders, I’d be in there, especially where it looks impossibly untamed, just to lean into some ice. It’s about half way up the New Haven, before you get to West Lincoln. I don’t know how the rocks form like that, with pools that spill over onto slabs like the sides of bathtubs. Love wants to be deep, or be free to be let go, or let go, it doesn’t stop, but simply flounders or flows. Let’s break this tension. Who cares if so and so loves you, or me, or not. Our hearts are breaking more than not. Maybe it’s time. Downstream is a wild tap. Either way, we race forward with or without a friend. Who gets how painful it is, or how amazingly, on heaven-scented days, it is not.”
