“I’m a little unsure as to why the quote “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans” has been attributed to John Lennon, but it’s true, none-the-less. This day has been completely eclectic, and electric, with a nod towards the unexpected. I slept in a little, which for me, means 7 am, and walked out onto my formerly cleared studio deck to find ice chunks large enough to kill, littering the walkway. What slides off the roof during a melt, chills the soul while encouraging a hint, that spring is surely just around the corner. I’ve become enured to the inherent dangers of mountain life, in some ways. Try not to be loitering, under overhangs. Let nature take its course, given the fact that you’re somewhat in conflict with conditions, as you insist, in your arrogance, to reside here. Don’t take anything, for granted, not even your safety. Adopt a low profile. Keep your cats indoors during the unstable periods, assuming you love them as you love yourself. Or watch them, like a hawk would. Do your shoveling, with an eye for falling objects. Or don’t. It’s okay to stay inside with your cats, until you can’t stand the feeling of being a trapped beast, and must emerge. Do your taxes, as bad as that is. Ah, late winter, early spring. It’s a discipline, a precursor to mud season, and the inevitable struggle with vehicular mobility. We’d planned to do our taxes together, my friend and I. Pots of tea, catching up on local news, printer at-the-ready, friendly kvetching. Outright complaint. The day began, simply enough. Then the first text flew in. “Don’t expect me for coffee; we have to take the truck in to the shop. I’ll be there at 10 am”. Okay, I thought. No problem. I can use the extra time to organize the electrician, and the carpenter, before settling into taxes. Of course, this was not to be. They all came at once. And I will never turn away, from an opportunity to be social, if the opportunity arises. Being a recluse is hard work, not easily jostled, unless people just show up. Thank goodness for that. So it was two hours of sitting around the wood stove, talking skiing, skiing accidents, bad skiing, good skiing, and the gold standard. Also, snow shoes and used gear exchanges, which for some of us, are stressful encounters with obnoxious, aggressive shoppers. And we talked about taxation, and how unfair it all is, and about the horrible state of rural housing. Then there was the Trump cuts of Medicare. And, oh my god, you can’t do all that for long, without needing coffee, or tea. I put the kettle on, and fed the cat, again. Another text came in: “Are you around?”. It was my studio assistant, recently back from touring for six weeks. “Of course!” I replied. I hadn’t seen him yet. “What’s a W-9?” my friend asked. She was still trying to do some invoicing, despite the infectious conviviality all around. “Google it”, I said, deferring the question. My studio assistant arrived, toting my Fender Strat that he’d borrowed for gigs. He gently propped it against the wall. “I’m in about the best, most advantageous position with my agency that I could imagine,” he said, “but something’s not right”. My friend and I put down our pens, and phones, and sat back, for a good listen. I shut my laptop. The carpenter left, the electrician went back to work. The cat affected a pose of indifference on the couch, but I could tell, he was listening. He loved this fellow creature, a warm lap, so familiar. Before we knew it, we were deep into a discussion of his bass player’s Celiac hardships, conniving promoters, and contract law. Holy “F”, I thought to myself. We are so distractible. But towards an end, and the end is community. I would never trade away the beautiful, imperfections that make us what we are. Eventually, and by this time it was close to 5 pm, one washed dishes, while two migrated to the studio. The evening sun seemed to be pressing through clouds, streaming across vast snow fields, just to reach us. I was happy to see him. “We’ve missed you”, I said. He sat down at his drum kit, and picked up a stick. taking a few random strikes at the snare. The day was decidedly grey, and not inspiring. His life, not easy. Nor mine. And yet within the organic system we’ve created, everything glows. It’s not easy for any of us. Everything can shine, I’m convinced, even taxes, and injustice. If we do our bit, to live in support of each incredible being within our personal sphere. We all count, and do make a difference.”
