The Bat in the Basement

My pet rabbit Waffles likes to chase our cat Pollie, and thankfully, she doesn’t mind. The three of us spend a lot of time together in the basement. The two of them stretching out on the carpet, and me sitting on the couch with a cup of tea at work on my daily blog post.

Tonight our relaxing Sunday evening was interrupted by an intruding bat. In the past I’ve managed to keep my cool at the sight of the flying mammal, but tonight one took me by surprise. I looked up from my macbook screen as it breezed by my face and started to circle me, making laps around the basement. At first I thought it was a bird, and then I realized it was a bat and I started to scream.

Pollie and Waffles didn’t seem to notice, but I was pinned to the couch, letting out a  scream/yell hybrid as it dipped toward my head on each pass. I called out to Lauren in the kitchen, “there’s a bat!” and I heard her feet run across the floor into the bathroom and the door shut. I was on my own.

I heard it hit the wall in the laundry room and fall onto Waffle’s hutch, conveniently landing on top of a dust pan and hand-held broom. I cautiously approached with visions of the little brown thing springing into my face, but before I could reach it the creature crawled across the hutch and dropped onto the floor, disappearing behind the waterheater.

Waffles, Pollie and I have now resumed our positions and are waiting for the bat to take to the air again. Next time we’ll be ready.

Driving Down From Pingree Park

 (Read while listening to: These Days by Nico)

9/27/11

Driving down from the mountain camp on a golden crisp fall day I smile and know this is what it feels like to be alive.

On the sunlit winding road I pass a place where the rock gaps open, and a focused wind raises bright yellow aspen leaves into a breath of beaded curtain.

I pass through the cloud, wind swept and fluttering like butterflies, and I think of the spirit of the mountain.

While driving along the ledge I look out toward the peaks beyond the valley below. I see a blanket of pine and one solitary aspen tree, glowing yellow, surrounded by a halo of light.

I realize I am not alone. Gaining some perspective, I understand everything is as it should be.

A Lesson in Authenticity

“the unexamined life is not worth living”
-Socrates

Today I received a lesson in authenticity. While I have had these thoughts before, I wanted to spend a little time here on the blog to reiterate the idea. I’ve come to think of this web-log as a sort of vision board, capturing whatever bubbles up when I sit down to write. I hope that after a year of blogging I will have learned something from these daily recordings.

For now, this is a lesson I want to bottle up and wear like a pendent around my neck:

 All you have  to consider is your own authentic experience. Do not worry about the opinions of others, but rather, respect their perceptions. 

Be kind. Smile. Do not be afraid.

This life is an opportunity to share your unique expression of love, so baby, be true to your heart. 

Walking with Angels

The last thing my great-grandmother said to me: “Whenever you need me, I’ll be there for you. And if you think you need me and I’m not there, that’s when you know you need yourself.”

I remember the day we laid her body into the ground. There was electricity in the air, and me with my silent tears. Those twinkly eyes were gone and I had lost the woman who’s name I carried.  In time, her face became a sweet and haunting memory.

Three balloons hover above For Sale signs, dotting the roadside red, yellow, and green in the brazen setting sun. I watch them fade in the rear-view mirror and wonder if I am in love. This will surely pass, I decide, and continue driving on. But my heart is arrested, gasping for air, while the uncertainty is killing me.

With the music on loud I slide into the rhythm, embracing the beat, soaking in the soul, rhythm and blues. Nothing can touch me when I’m on the road, escaping in my mobile get-away.

“Be careful with her heart,” she says, and I know she’s looking out for me. I see her face on the horizon in a light so bright it blinds. Those are her twinkling eyes, saying their goodbyes before she dips below the skyline. In the twilight, I know that I’m ok.

A Poem for Pollie

Pretty little pollie
the neighborhood’s best friend
then came the day she
! ran away !
gone
for five nights and another day
we were sad and worried
thinking it was the end
but then we found her on the internet
and made a collar her new best friend

A Storm in the Night

Death came quickly without the sense of impending doom hinted at by a story-teller’s hushed voice and slowed speech. Or maybe there were signs and I just didn’t see them. Either way, the line between life and death passed by in a flash of quick jaws that caught the bird mid-flight. Words stuck in my throat as I realized there was nothing I could do. The bird was already dead.

I awoke in the middle of the night to the crack and boom of a thunderstorm raining down on the house. The wind was howling and bright flashes of light cast shadows in the darkness, rocking the house with each blast. It felt like the world inside the house moved in slow motion as I went from window to window shutting out the rain. I returned to my bed and drifted off into dark and stormy dreams.

When I awoke in the morning I walked into the living room and heard a tapping sound against the window pane. A small bird had sought refuge from the storm by climbing down the chimney, finding a perch on the windowsill. I startled the bird causing it to jump up and fly around the house, seeking a way outside. I opened the front and back door offering an opportunity for escape.

Fly, a wolfish German Shepherd/Husky mix, was enjoying his breakfast by the kitchen, not noticing the little bird fluttering over head. I watched the bird fly into each corner and window of the livingroom, finally settling back to the windowsill, exhausted, tapping its beak against the pane. The bird looked at me and I pointed to the back door, trying to communicate “over there – that’s the way to freedom!”

I looked back at Fly, watched the great dog lumber over to see what was going on. He walked slowly up to the bird, focused, calm. I watched the scene play out before me as the bird jumped into the air and Fly caught it in a quick snap of his jaws, walking back towards me with feathers sticking out of his closed mouth. I was shocked as he looked up at me, mouth full of bird. He walked outside through the back door and wolfed down his catch with only a single feather falling to the ground as evidence of the bird who never found its way out.

I sat down in a daze reflecting on the death scene I’d just witnessed as Fly walked back into the living room proud and smiling, energized by his morning kill. I thought about the moment of the snatch, how I didn’t see it coming. I thought about actions and consequences. I remembered the storm and the darkness of my dreams.

Ladies Getting it Done

My roommate Lauren had been shopping for the perfect purse for the past month. A small book-wide, classic black leather purse, with a mid-length shoulder strap. The strap was important.

It had to be one of those detachable straps, the kind that you could unhook in case of emergencies. A purse that will save your life if you ever suddenly need a tourniquet. Last week, Lauren found that purse. And thank goodness she did, because tonight that strap saved the day.

The time had come: we had to pick up our lawn mower. It should have been done weeks ago, but we’ve been busy. As an added complication, I no longer had the truck I’d used for the drop off.  There wasn’t time to borrow it again, that mower was long overdue for pick up.

“I’ll just have to walk it back,” I concluded.

Lauren said she’d be happy to give me a ride, in fact, if she just drove us there, we could walk back together and then I could bring her back to pick up her car. Perfect! Our scheme was set.

We found the little shop tucked in an alley behind a Mobile repair station. Turns out it was a little further than I remembered, but there was no going back, we had to get the mower home.

This back-alley operation ran like a well oiled machine. Rock & roll played on the stereo over a floor room packed with used small engine machines, lawn ornaments, and a rack of BBQ sauce and seasonings.

The woman who ran the desk was an inspiration. Papers were scattered in a complex system of piles, her long red hair sat on her shoulders and her sparkling blue eyes were quick but calm.

She moved customers along like a factory assembly line. I looked for kindness in her matronly eyes to see if she would forgive us for our tardy pick up – 3 weeks overdue.

I stepped up to the counter and told her I was there to pick up my mower, gave her my name and asked what the damage might be.

She went through the invoice with her practiced efficiency, wrapping up with the phrase repeated to the customer before us:

“Meet me by the back door and I’ll bring the mower around.”

As we walked passed the line of customers we knew we’d found a gem of a place. “Do you girls need any help loading it up?” she asked us as we met her by the back door.

We exchanged glances and said, “no thanks, we’re just walking it back”

“so you live close?”

Another pause, and then we answered “well not exactly, but it’s not too far.” She wished us luck and we set out to the alley way.

The grey clouds looked down at us and a cold breeze blew hard.

“Should we try to fit it in the trunk of the Honda?” I asked.

“Might as well give it  a shot.” Lauren answered with a nod.

So we marched the mower down the street to Lauren’s two-door Honda Civic. We lowered both of the back seats and pushed it up as far as the it would go, looking for a way to secure it from rolling out the back.

“Do you have anything to tie down the trunk?” I asked. We looked around at our supplies. MacGyver style.

The backseat was clean as a whistle. Then it dawned on me.

“My purse strap detaches.” I said.

“Mine too!” Lauren said as we both started unfastening the straps from our bags.

Using the straps we secured the trunk to the mower and the mower to the car. The rain started to fall as we stepped back into the car.

“Here we are,” Lauren said as we started to drive away, “two ladies getting it done.”

The trunk barely moved an inch as we meandered our way back home in the rain.