I’ve decided the universe is just not on my side right now and the best thing I can do is just ride it out. My car broke down again today, in the rain, after paying a boat load to have it repaired last week. Grrr. . .
The good news is I was fairly close to home, the tow truck showed up fast and it stopped raining long enough for me to have a good long walk home from the mechanic. I needed that cold, long walk. Walking is what keeps me grounded. Yeah, knees! Yeah, feet! Thank you.
Walking is when I think, get ideas, ruminate about life. Walking the miles home made me think about being a kid, living in the mountains and having to walk when your car is stuck in the snow, the plow hasn’t come for days, the roads are jammed, blocked, barricaded. We walked. We hitch hiked. We skied, to work, the store, school, wherever. And we usually froze our asses off doing it. Coffee shops were filled with thawing cold bodies drinking hot coffee, while coats and boots dripped onto the floor, steaming up the room, smelling like bacon, coffee and wet dog.
photo by Tampen
Urban life in the flat lands offers–dare I say–to much at our finger tips. We don’ t have to physically trudge for too much. I’m thinking in particular about shoveling out the driveway to get the car–or finding the car in the first place, digging it out, using a crow bar to get the door open if you were smart enough NOT to lock it the night before. If you did, you’re screwed.
Cutting, hauling and stacking wood isn’t a necessity here, just trip the heater switch: insta’ heat. (I do like that by the way, but not a lot of gratification involved.) No deck to shovel–I don’ t miss that, but hot soup and sandwiches taste so much better when you’ve cleared mounds of icy snow.
When I was in my teens, a boy who liked me, showed up at our house, climbed up on the roof (2 stories high) and shoveled for hours, until, apparently, he fell off onto the hardpack. (I wasn’t even home to appreciate the gesture! Or haul him into the house. My sister said he limped away down the road slowly, looking rather pained. You know he appreciated whatever he ate and drank that night. He certainly earned it.
I guess this ruminating is nostalgia. I don’ t know if I loved this harder life when I had it, even though I may have been stronger–better, for it. And would I take it back now? Not so sure. I’ll go stand on the insta’ heater and think about it.