I thought the job of Cat Sitter was something else entirely. Erika took the picture. It’s one of the best pictures of her cat Acorn I’ve seen.
The second picture is of Güino frolicking in the snow. I let him play quite a while yesterday.
The third picture is Güino taking a rest in the cat castle after a hard day’s play.
This morning, I stood on the landing watching the moon. I heard arguing and shouting approaching. Even though it was 3:30 in the morning, two people were staggering down the sidewalk after a night’s festivities. Their conversation was so nonsensical that it reminded me of a presidential debate. They finally made it past and their voices faded. Güino was sitting at my feet. I could have sworn that even he shook his head in disapproval.
Even though it was cold and windy, I had to take a walk. This is a coffee and beer place next to the trail. The colors are stunning.
This is a picture heading back to my apartments. There’s color everywhere if you know where to look. We all need more of it in the winter.
Driving to work on the abandoned snow-covered roads this morning was beautiful. An urban landscape. The drive was easier than yesterday, when each of us looked out and hoped that the weather would show us mercy. I stopped, exiting my vehicle. The crisp echo of my feet on the accumulated snow reminded me of tiny packing bubbles. The sound was louder than the footsteps of an inebriated teenager attempting to quietly enter the house without waking anyone. I wanted to let the cold embrace me and take a long walk. I’m sure I looked a little odd, walking fast on the road. For a moment though, the road, perhaps for a mile in either direction, had only me on top of it. I returned to my car, and drove to work, resenting that I couldn’t pass an hour exuberantly walking the solitary streets. Though I’m doing my relentless paces here, I’m still out there, looking up at the luminescence that only snow can bring to 2:00 a.m. When you’re young, those kind of moments seem preposterous. And when you’re older, you just accept them as the rare though mundane moments that they are.
PS Each of us probably nicknames our neighbors. Erika and I nicknamed one of ours Shirtless Dad. If you’re guessing he acquired the moniker because he does indeed walk about shirtless, you would be right. And no, he definitely is not Brad Pitt. Late yesterday afternoon, when I walked back over to my apartment for a moment, I saw that he was going to check his mail. He remembered to take his postal key, but forgot his shirt. It tickled me so much that I called Erika on Alexa. That’s what prompted her to go sit on the landing barefoot and take a video. She didn’t capture his lunacy. That was another small and stupid moment that tickled me. You take your moments where you can find them.
I woke up this morning and grabbed my phone from the counter at the Airbnb. I was trying to surreptitiously gather my things and not awaken Erika. And then I saw this text. It caught me off guard, like a chinchilla in my underwear in the dark. I started laughing and tried to do it quietly. Which led to a coughing fit. Thanks Zach; no, I didn’t put snow back on your windshield. I wish I had thought of it though. I would have built an igloo on top of your truck. .
I rendered my walk goal as a cube root, expressed in miles. Think of it as a GED test for an exceptionally warm winter Tuesday afternoon. (I did the base number wrong on purpose, just to make the math not be even.) 70° in January? Mother nature must have had a glass of wine.
During this beautiful and energetic walk, I was imagining the most brilliant mathematics teacher. The hair would be in a mess, socks unmatched, and their communication ability equivalent to a horse tapping out Morse code. They probably know everything in the world about math. People looking at them and listening to them would be so distracted by their presentation that they would erroneously conclude that they couldn’t possibly be intelligent.
Which leads me to point out that people can have a surprisingly vast knowledge about something. But those around them don’t appreciate it. Or can’t see past whatever visual or auditory filter that’s blocking them.
It’s too bad y’all weren’t walking with me this afternoon. One of you could have carried the six pieces of chalk I exhausted on the various surfaces around me. We could have shared the music too. It was divine.
Even now I have to double check that it’s not spring.
I climbed a pretty good-sized tree too. But the thicket that scratched and pulled at me that I traversed was much more interesting.
Pretty damn good day.
More than I have a right to ask for, but one for which I’m grateful.
I descended to the trail with a bag of surprises, hopeful one of the squirrels of the local squadron by the creek would come down from the trees. 42° struck me as wildly warm. The sunlight was diaphanous as it penetrated the fluffy clouds. As soon as I poured the surprise onto the transformer the squirrel made two heroic and timed leaps from way up into the tree onto the surface. I stepped back so it could feast. It didn’t disappoint me. The squirrel stuffed its face ferociously. In less than 2 minutes, it had consumed and/or packed its mouth with every last morsel.
Why it made me happy? I don’t know. When I last lived in Springdale, I wasn’t nice to the squirrels because they destroyed everything. I think I’ve exceeded my karma for them in the last couple of years. I leave peanuts and food out for them and if they chew things they’re not supposed to, I replace them or fix them. As I walked away, the squirrel nimbly ascended back to the treetops. I finished my break and went back to work.
Though it was cold and blustery after work, I walked alongside the store and around the back. I walked too fast down the steep concrete culvert. The leaves slipped under my feet and reminded me that I couldn’t fly. Had I fallen into the dirty water, I would have laughed. It wouldn’t have affected my day. My victory was that I resisted jumping from the lip of the culvert to the cart; I wanted to.
Although the picture contains garbage, it was a moment of beauty for me. A single bird flew to the broken fence and hollered toward me. I took out my phone to take a picture. The bird flew above me and away.
I don’t blame anyone for seeing only garbage. That’s where the observer in us filters what we see. The blue of the discarded shopping cart sitting derelict in the water was much more vibrant than it appeared.
The day started with sublimated subduedness for me. I’m not accustomed to that.
The 21st is the shortest day of the year for us.
I look out the window, past my cat atop the cat castle, and see the purplish-hued prism swinging in the wind. Behind it, the sun already sliding below the horizon.
When I went to the square, I got there early. There was only one street musician setting up to play. I dropped some money in his case and asked him if I could sing Feliz Navidad with him. “Hell yes, you can!” And so it came to pass as he played his guitar artfully, he sang the bilingual version while I accompanied him purely in Spanish. None of my co-workers, both current and past, had yet arrived.
Sometimes, getting there early makes all the difference.
For reasons I can’t explain, I think I will always remember standing there near the inside corner of the Fayetteville square on a weird, warm December evening. Singing.
The apartment near me is now empty! Even though it is not libel or slander to state the truth, I’ll refrain from commentary about the previous tenant(s). It’s a relief, even though I know the next tenant(s) could easily surpass that tenant’s curriculum vitae. It still surprises me when stress is relieved, one that is almost subliminal. It’s not that the person was a particular threat per se, other than the one incident when I thought I would have to summon the Bobby Dean demons. It was the unknown of what such a tenant invites, who they attract, and who they have in their circle.
Even though most people won’t understand it, I got triggered AF for a while. I’m not normally prone to that kind of unease. Not just for myself but also for everyone else. I listen to that instinct. My dad, despite his flaws, literally beat that instinct into me.
I love where I live for a lot of reasons. I’ve done more than my share to make it better. It’s an uphill push sometimes, but what isn’t?
I’d like a family of Latinos, someone older, or someone who speaks a different language. Or plays the piano. Someone creative and without the urge to find odd ways to live joyfully. I doubt those checkboxes can be found on most applications for a lease. Plus, no one asked me, even though I am certain I could do a fantastic job of weeding out the crazies. Not just because I identify with the crazies but because my interview questions would be a hell of a lot more interesting.
Being in apartments brings disadvantages; it also brings opportunities, too. People surprise me, especially when they turn out to be interesting and people I’d likely not meet otherwise. Some have reminded me that it’s hard to “judge not” based on first impressions or the people they are related to. All of us have outliers in our families, which probably sounds odd coming from a weirdo like me.
It’s akin to humanity bingo.
It’s dumb to be thankful for the absence of a neighbor.
But I am.
I recognize that tingle in the back of my mind: I feel safer now.
I’m a big, big believer in letting people do their thing, no matter what it is. If people want to set their hair on fire inside, that’s wonderful. If they want to blast music, even when it’s not necessarily joyous for me, that’s okay too. My litmus test is, “Is it safe for everyone else?” Otherwise, bring on the clowns.
I stood outside the convenience store after exiting.
A miracle car pulled up to the curb next to me. I call it a miracle because it was miraculous that it would run. All of its parts were culled from a hundred disparate vehicles. I saw bolts, baling wire, and tape in surprising places. A couple of pieces of the body looked burned. Or to be remnants of an explosion. It wasn’t loud, but it also sounded like special effects as the engine ran.
The picture I used in this description is not the actual car. Taking their picture would have ruined the moment.
A forty-ish man exited the passenger side. He fumbled with two large manilla envelopes.
From inside the car, a woman’s voice asked, “Are you warm enough? Are you sure you don’t want us to drop you somewhere else?”
He smiled as he managed the papers in his hands.
“I’m good. It’s my first day out. I’m not ever going back there. Never. I learned my lesson. Here is just fine.”
The driver was smoking, nodding his head, and laughing in appreciation of the enthusiasm and certainty with which the first man spoke those words.
I admit I lingered at that point, pretending to look for something in the pocket of my driver’s door.
It was obvious he was arriving home, wherever that might be, just out of prison.
The man walked over to the curb near the gas canister storage. A woman wearing only a jacket somehow got out of the car from the rear seat, as neither the door nor the seat seemed to move.
It was interesting that she had asked him if he were warm enough. When I say she was wearing only a jacket, I’m being literal.
She scampered up to him and gave him a huge hug. His face lit up like a sunrise.
“Are you sure we can’t take you somewhere? Anywhere you want to go?” She smiled up at him.
“No, thank you. I’m beyond good right here.”
He hugged her this time, his arms lifting her up in the air a little. She should have been very cold at that point.
She laughed.
I got in my car to leave, wanting to know his story.
He chose wisely, though.
Both for the hugs and for not getting back into the miracle car.
It MUST be fueled by hope as mechanically it’s an impossibility that it runs without suspending the laws of physics.
Maybe, just maybe, he provided the necessary hope.
There was something about the way he said he had learned the lesson that made me believe him.
I hope he’s safe and warm now, a couple of weeks later.
I didn’t know how to write this little story.
There’s no special ending, no words of wisdom.
It’s just a human moment that I was able to witness.
I wish I could hear the tone of his voice more in my daily life.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 