French Toast

Watching Mr. Pasquette walk the wire between two towers took no time at all if you saw it via the broadcast news. However, (toot horns), I could see half of it live, right out my window and was so immersed in his concentration that time slowed to a molluscan dimension; a cautious, tendril of a foot balanced his weight forward in meditative time; I willed him to stay up, move deliberately, to grow roots into his line. It took forever. He stopped, knelt, tipped a hat, saluted. An animated dot, he shortened as he knelt. As he gained the safety of the ledge, I saw him scamper down the terraced levels supporting the towering Statue of Liberty replicas, a mannikin upon the horizon in the sky. I clapped, not loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Thank you, Mr. Pasquette; you stopped the sun and inserted your own version of time like a wedge between o'clocks. It was fun to see you. Au revoir.

Hours. Sleep, please stay.

Noah's Ark

Last Sunday, I drowned any spiders, dust mites, and microscopic prokaryotes, thus liberating the saprophytes that feed on dead remains and so produce bouquets of spores. English: I flooded the back end of the god-blasted apartment with an inch of water and spent a good part of the next day ripping up carpeting. Plastic crap-ola indoor outdoor carpeting that was the color of cheap canned dog food and stapled into the asbestos linoleum on top of once uponna time foam underlayment. No one was hurt, no cat became ill from padding through pools, and I promised the universe to swear less if I got my job back while sopping up buckets with a miracle sponge that I will bury with a marker when it's ready to go I respect this sponge so much, it saved my giblets. Just the kind of sponge you use to wash a car, an oversize floppy synthetic thing, but it held water like Scarlett clinging to the fantasy of Ashley Wilkes. I am grateful, O sponge; particulars are not being revealed even if you promise me a box of kittens.

Much was thrown away, my mom's old easel, a table missing a leg but it was such a good piece of furniture, a wool rug so plain and warm, a mirror in a gilt picture frame from grandma's time, and some books. It was horrible, I still ache. This scenario was compounded by the mystery of job status which was not found out until that Tuesday, when I went to the online site and saw the words. I had gone to work to set up the classroom, yet waited to get home before checking--if the state hadn't said okey-dokey, I didn't want to know in front of anybody.

Well, it was, I am, and sleep has returned. There is still an anxiety, but it's wearing down, ebbing away from a clawed grip to a tolerable elbow in the ribs. It will be all gone soon, remaining sensation being the breathless shock that things worked out. Lord, I need to get to the ocean, to feel the salt waves rocking against my shins, pulling the tension of human life on land back to the beginning of shelled things. Since I redigidooed the car insurance policy, there will be nine hundred dollars that I don't have to pay them. This will buy a lot of cat food and maybe get a vacation in there somewheres. Oh baby.

Going off to push some more furniture around, found a black circular dial telephone which only needs a split adaptor to hook up. Tried it out in the modem and yippee, using a finger to turn the dial felt familiarly weird, and sounded like fifty years ago. Come on over and call someone; maybe grandma will answer, but that is a story for a cup of tea.

Oh sleep. Tomorrow is college library research for a Monday paper, but tonight, that beginning-of-fall cool night that requires heavier bedding will lull daylight into memory. Oh, most of our joy occurs in day, but there is the respite from being good enough that night comforts and loosens a little, if only to dream or fall into dark, quiet worlds of slow time. Rest and recover, let the subconscious wend through thought and desire, let the body sink gratefully down to innocence. Good night, good night, water, star, carbon, flesh. Love to all.

I saw that, get back here.

It is 10:30 a.m. by the world clock on the laptop; breakfast has been cleared and papers are electronic and silent but for the soft clacking of a million keyboards. I sit on the couch edge, typing missives and apologetic requests for words documenting efforts to higher ups and departments.

The apartment remains cluttered by years of a somnambulant existence, enchanted by shells, books, drawing pads, cats, and grandmotherly things. I remind myself that I have only awoken recently, and cannot undo years of gathering things that made me feel temporarily loved in a few months. Health not quite good enough to sit down and stop was compounded by graduate papers due at college and by demands of a job that requires a sixth sense and a mind two steps ahead of the clientele.

I noticed falling last summer, when the words coming from the instructor made no sense and it took too many times to understand a page of text. Stress, older, blah blah blah, suck it up, get busy. Now things are better, moving forward; even if I get half the brain I once had, it would suffice, but resolving organic growth does take its sweet time. Oh people, be patient with each other, you never can know what mischief will impede anyone's synapses like a burnt squirrel in the phone wires.

So, signs. What do you think? After becoming religious, non-religious, then religious again after the marriage ended, then non-religious when they wanted me to go to "Divorce Class" before I could take communion post-annulment post-divorce, then a little too Run-With-The-Wolves spiritual, then a little uh-oh over the edge I saw a bird sitting on this street sign so it means blah, then, for heaven's sake get a grip and work towards your education, next, walking around in a stultified state from the two anti-depressants, tranqs, and Ambien that someone-who-is-not on my Christmas List put me on, then the resurrection from sleep disorders, and the current issue of my freaking muscles melting away from a recipe of statins (warning: do not take), snake venom blood pressure med and diuretic heart palpitation circus meds; after all that, I believe in signs. Tippy-toe like. Maybe.

I journaled an occurrence offline because it was too out of the ordinary and really, some of us have these things happen, and others end up in a cupboard next to the once-a-year Bell's Poultry Seasoning brought out Thanksgiving mornings, that happy little yellow box with the bright blue and red turkey on the front, since 1867. You want to know more, email me.

But did it just happen again? Printing out a hardcopy document for this evening's class, the computer produced an image on the paper mimicking the previous you-didn't-hear-it-from-me there she goes again. A picture that had been stored in the photo files. No document, but so similar to what was experienced, I paused, then laughed with the silvery angels. I mean, it did come out as a laugh, but maybe it was more related to nerves and last night's sleep interruption when Snowbelle got caught behind a dresser and needed rescuing in the middle of nowhere nohow. I think it's my Grandma Ida, and that's all I'm admitting publicly.

Letters have now been written and faxed at this 11:30 a.m. hour, the BTF rep said that the Albany connection would put it through if she got the letter due course. Now I am waiting to hear if it gets there, if the right people press the right buttons after lunch, perhaps.

A dear friend and I were supposed to drive up to Newfane for a short trip to visit a shop where another friend sells her knit purses. It will happen in autumn, closer to leaf colors and tannin in the atmosphere. Tonight I have a class at the college, parking better after four o'clock when the younger crowd leaves. The master's project begins this evening, I am ready. Listen for a royal wahoo when the soft mists begin to gather over the Lake and day is done. No cat is getting caught behind a dresser this night.

Do a good turn today, I know you do every day; these actions create a family and a sense of social belonging which is all that anyone wants. Day to night, moon to up, sun to down. We dream.