Not sleeping a lot sometimes has its advantages. Although the spot wasn’t perfect, I went to the wide spot near the railroad tracks where I can see the panorama of the entire sky.
I didn’t get to see an enormous fireball cutting across, but I did get to see a couple of dozen meteors making hyphens across the sky.
These things travel at 37 miles a second. Some of the debris is 4.6 billion years old.
It was much darker than my picture lives on. I took a long exposure picture.
Was it worth it? I stood in the silence of the night, feeling the breeze and listening to the insects as I sipped my coffee. My imagination surpassed the speed of those brief meteors.
Today was someone’s last day at work after a total of 40-plus years. Such lengths of service have become increasingly unlikely given how much the world has changed and how differently companies operate.
I’ve been at my job well over 21 years. The succession of new faces renders as a blur. When an anchor person such as the woman retiring today departs, you know things will be different.
Someone who retired almost 5 years ago after an impressive run showed up for the retirement celebration. The gap between the years collapsed to such a degree that I felt like it was merely a month ago. At her party, I remember quoting Andy from The Office: “I wish there was a way to know you’re in ‘the good old days,’ before you’ve actually left them.” Everyone knew when she left that something fundamental was shifting.
It’s likely that only older people can feel the sublime emotion that signals recognition that, in some ways, regardless of our current reality, we’ll likely look back on just about every definable era as worthy of remembering.
I should have known better than to turn on the radio in the sweltering heat of my car as I left today. There was one second of silence before the next song started playing. “Ordinary World” by Duran Duran. I’m not particularly fond of the group, but this song always touches emotions that go beyond the alleged subject matter.
“…What has happened to it all?
Crazy, some’d say
Where is the life that I recognize? (Gone away)
But I won’t cry for yesterday, there’s an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find…”
Strange that tears would come to my eyes. It’s almost as if these moments remind me that on some secret level, we know we are not chasers of things. And yet, we are more defined by possessions, routine, and obligation than we will ever be by the wild creative potential lurking inside of us.
Hell is truly other people. But stop to imagine how much more hellish life would be without the people spanning the decades with us.
There’s no question that the stretch of Oakland Ave. between Sycamore and Mt. Comfort is among the weirdest and most heebie-jeebies-prone streets in Fayetteville. This is doubly true once August arrives.
The street is unusual for several reasons. It is a chaotic mix of old houses, modern townhouses, sporadic street lights, and one side of the road lacking a sidewalk while simultaneously having a drainage ditch that is a literal hazard to both drivers and pedestrians.
It was probably during my 100th late-night/early-morning walk on Oakland that it occurred to me just how many weird things I had seen and heard.
The stretch of street I’m referring to is 2,250 feet. One of the fascinating things about part of this area is that Mt. Comfort Road was once a major “highway” for its time. It was cut off when Highway 112 was put in, leaving this little forgotten stub of a highway. Almost no one alive today knows that this strange fragment of road is very, very old, or how many people once passed through Fayetteville east to west (or vice versa) this way. If you are so inclined, you can do as I did and find old aerial photography from before the interstate was built and before the Hwy 112 project cut off Mt. Comfort Road. We forget that “progress” is a seemingly slow, constant march until we scan through and see that even our familiar topography is really a slow-motion, never-ending process.
I walked over to Garland/112 in the unseasonably cool dark early morning. The plan was to watch the panoramic dark sky for meteors. It’s one of the best nearby places because I can walk down the middle of the road without so much concern that a sidewalk will trip me up.
As I approached the last side street, Ernie Jacks Blvd., I heard somebody driving fast heading north. But I wasn’t seeing the flickering shadowy lights ahead of me caused by headlights. A white vehicle roared past, traveling at about 90 mph. No headlights. No interior lights of any kind. Cannonball Run came to mind.
Almost simultaneously, blue lights flickered against the white fence along the west side of the road. For a second, I thought an unseen police vehicle fired up its lights as the occupant watched the vehicle roar passed.
It wasn’t. Instead, several police vehicles were at the apartments on the right side. I took a right and walked down the side dead end street to see what kind of excitement might be going on. The voices were clear but for some reason I couldn’t understand a word.
The flashing lights and backlit effect created another illusion. I took a couple of pictures because the boundaries of the trees and the contradicting lights made it look like there was a cloud floating about 20 feet in front of me. It’s not real. The canopy of the trees created The strange optical illusion.
It was a beautiful and quiet walk. Almost no breeze, with the temperature actually falling as I wound my way through the dark neighborhoods. Just the insects and occasional voices from unseen people who had refused to give up the night and go to bed.
For some reason, the movie Backrooms kept coming to mind. If there were such magical places, this would have been the morning where I would not have been surprised to find one. Like magical Narnia wardrobes, except scattered in shadowy liminal spaces.
I’m definitely going to have to bring out my blue tape and put up some hidden doorways one of these mornings. As a prank, but also as a way to identify people who are either strange enough or magical enough to want to walk up and touch them. Just in case. Those are my people.
By the time I reluctantly surrendered, there was a breeze to accompany me and the temperature had dropped to 70. That was magical enough.
For all of you who doubt that rat snakes will get up into the trees on the side of the creek, let me reassure you that they indeed will. They’re harmless. But snakes are exactly like Aslan. You can’t be 100% sure. They are beautiful in their own way.
I took this picture at 5:59, when the sun officially rose. I’d already taken a long walk in the dark earlier in the morning.
“What is up the hill in those trees?” I drove by and had the undeniable urge to go find out. I also found at least a dozen spider webs, each of them criss-crossing my intended path. There were at least a thousand birds up there, including a boisterous crow who wanted to know who I thought I was to invade his territory.
I took my cat Güino outside on the landing this morning to listen to the orchestra of birds. When I turned back toward the door, I realized he was shadow boxing with the glint created by my glasses.
I like this picture because he looks real in the shadows created by the cascading light.
A woman knelt on the sidewalk near the corner. She was talking to her small son while her slightly older daughter stood nearby. Their bikes were next to them. The mom pointed at the flashing ambulance as it turned into the hospital drive.
She explained to him what an ambulance is in the simplest words possible.
“Someone is sick,” the daughter said, jumping into the explanation.
“Someone is driving the sick person?” The young boy looked at his sister.
Mom stepped in before the daughter said something clever. “Yes. And there are people riding in the back helping the sick person until they get to the hospital.”
(I was waiting for the little girl to say something precocious, such as, “No, he gets a discount if he does the driving.)
The boy repeated the word “ambulance,” but it came out sounding only slightly recognizable.
I stood a few feet away, waiting to cross. The mom smiled at me. “I like to explain things to them. You never know what sticks.”
I smiled. “Do you know why old ambulances used to be long and odd-shaped?”
“No, I don’t,” the mom said.
“Because the first ambulances were driven by funeral homes. Up to 50% of them.”
I wish you could have seen the mom’s eyes widen. “Really? Is that true?”
“Yes, it is. That’s wild, isn’t it?”
“Now I’m going to have to go home and look all this up. How did I not know that?”
“Because of Bridgerton.” (A popular TV show popped into my head, so of course, I said it.)
“On Netflix? I love that show!”
She didn’t get the implication of my comment. I laughed and said, “See y’all later,” to them all.
Given the way she took the time to explain things to her kids, I’m convinced that she did look it up when she went home. What’s certain is that both kids will grow up to be ridiculously smart.
One of those thought experiments that fascinates me is the movie one. IF your life were a movie being watched by an audience, what would they be screaming at you?
Chances are, for most of you, something immediately came to mind. And whatever that is? That should be your focus of change.
The lights were gorgeous this morning.
…
PS…
I could hear shouts as I cut through the pylons that blocked the side street that once connected traffic coming off of Leverett.
As I approached, I could see two people standing on their tiny outcropping balcony in the dark.
The young guy was angry and said some things that shouldn’t be said. He stormed back inside and shut the door to the balcony.
As I passed, the young woman looked down and saw me. “I’m sorry about that,” she said.
“It’s been a rough night?” It popped out of my mouth before I thought about it. It’s a common predicament for me.
“Yes.”
“It’s obvious I’m old. If you don’t want to be standing on this balcony again in a year, you’re going to have to leave him.”
“I know.”
“I hope you get some sleep and have a better Saturday.”
When I reached Garland, I turned to see that she had gone back inside.
We’re having performance reviews at work. I can’t decide between baton twirling or interpretive dance.
…
“Y’allternative” is one of those awesome words like hick-hop because it conveys exactly what you expect.
“Tie-Boned” is a word I came up with to replace “T-boned.” Instead of an accident, it’s a calamity caused by someone wearing a tie and concealing a hidden agenda. A person with dirty hands and ripped work pants can mess you up once. Someone with a tie can rig the entire system with a smile on their face.
I had a beautiful walk this morning in the stillness of the dark. Sounds carried strangely. It was easy to follow the barrel owl as it moved from block to block. I don’t know if it witnessed the strange flyover around 3:45 a.m.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 