Life—Ya
Gotta Love It
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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
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