Monday, July 25, 2016

Life—Ya Gotta Love It

Life—Ya Gotta Love It
            This morning I woke up with the mighty discouragums. Actually, that’s not the truth. I didn’t wake up; I never slept. And as mid-morning crawls toward noon, I haven’t eaten either. And I feel very much alone. But, I feel better already, now that I’ve shared with you.

            At 8:45 last evening Kathy, Richard and I were sitting in my back yard, watching the clouds rock and roll over the mountains, our last night together until next fall. The huge puffy whites turned to greenish-blacks. Dark galloped in. We rushed to our casas. At 9:00 the sky hurled lightning and exploded thunderous horizontal hail backed up by bucket-sized raindrops.

            I scurried around, closed windows on the side of attack and got ready for bed. Two windows blew open. Got up, latched and locked the windows and wiped up the puddles. Went back to bed. Phone rang. Ignored it. The third series of rings I got up. “We’re having a monster storm. I’m scared to answer the phone.”

            While talking to my daughter I heard drips. Turned on the lights. One of my plumpy down sofa cushions held a half gallon of water. And over there, a puddle swamped the floor. My roof had sprung a leak. Moved furniture. Laid down towels.

            Back to bed, serenaded by rain, pounding, thankfully, straight down. Every couple minutes the world lit up and thunder clapped in appreciation. I couldn’t sleep. Got up to go to bathroom; stepped into a pond spreading on bathroom floor. Used the last of my towels, tea towels and rags. Might have to break out the bed sheets.

            Wide awake, I listened to the storm which sounded like a grate-your-teeth-untalented garage band, complete with regalia, strobe lights and base.  Water lapped below the windows on the west side like a spring-runoff creek.

My backyard is terraced, with my house sitting on the lower terrace. The yard drain has a screen filter which frequently needs to be cleaned. I thought about that drain. I thought about the dark. I thought about the pounding rain. Mentally, I shrugged. If it floods, it floods.

My back yard entry is a large tri-section solid-metal gate. If the gate isn’t securely locked, it flaps open in the wind. About midnight, the gate began banging. It took me a while to figure out the source of the concussive noise, not falling tree limbs but the iron gate beating back and forth.

The storm raged all night. The gate banged all night. I lay awake all night.

At dawn I wanted to pull the covers over my head. Rain stopped. Sun came out. Blue sky rolled out like someone opened the window shade. Birds sang. Reluctantly, I crawled out of bed.

Water filled my back yard, lapped against the back wall of my house. I considered stocking my new lake with trout and opening it for fishing, small fee, worms for sale in refrigerator.

Instead, I put on rubber sandals and waded through the verge, plunged my hands into the water and raked the debris away from the clogged drain. The lake transformed into a running stream. I splashed through the receding waters to the upper terrace, crossed through my spongy yard, locked the back gate.

I arranged for Josue to fix my roof. He said every three to four years it should be sealed again. “Depends on the world,” he said. “When the earth moves, we seal again.” Makes sense to me.

Buckets of sealant anchor a corner of my patio. We need three dry days; two to dry the roof and one to apply the fix. Every night it rains.  

In the grand scheme of things, my leaky roof is a small irritation. Think I’ll get on with my day, plant another pot of cilantro, trim the cedar outside my front gate, drink lots of water, breathe and go to bed early.

Sondra Ashton
HDN: Looking out my back door

July 7, 2016

No comments:

Post a Comment