When the Clock of Time Slithers Down the Wall

 

When the Clock of Time Slithers Down the Wall

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Some days I feel like I’m living in Dali’s famous painting with timepieces slumped and limp and empty.

Except with differences. My “painting” would have the clock hands clutching at the wall in futile attempt to stay put. “What do you mean, we are well into September? August began yesterday, don’t you know?”

What do I have to show for a month gone by? I mean, I haven’t accomplished anything. We are supposed to, aren’t we? We are told that, aren’t we?  In my self-imposed life of solitude and simplicity, I’ve done nothing of note.

Remember when every kitchen wall had a calendar with large spaces in which to record significant events?

I decided to record something significant of each day for a week. This does not mean my records will be exciting or even interesting. Remember the farm calendar. “took 40 yearlings to the sale”, or “Slim stopped by. His bull jumped fence”, or “took cream can to the depot today”, and “put up 18 quarts green beans”.

The Puzzle: Finished a picture puzzle of a car cruise down Main Street in the 40s. When I began the puzzle, brand new, an edge piece was missing. It is still missing. After grinding my teeth, I had an “ah ha” moment. This is a perfect marketing ploy. If every puzzle is boxed with a missing piece, one can relax, knowing that the missing piece is not on the floor or beneath the cabinet or chewed by the dog. It’s similar to the deliberate mistake woven into ancient Persian carpets and Native jewelry, because only God is perfect. By the way, it’s raining.

The Bug: After taking laundry off the clothesline, I felt something tickle the back of my neck. I swatted at the nuisance, thinking, dang mosquitoes. While putting my laundry cart in the bodega, again something nudged the back of my neck, felt like it was going down my blouse. Swatted with both hands and shook out my clothing while doing a shimmy. I was folding clothes in my bedroom and definitely, some critter was in my hair, and I wind-milled my hands over my head.

Lo and behold, a beautiful green walking stick fell to the floor, largest one I’ve ever seen. Before I could capture the bugger, it scampered beneath the bathroom cupboard. When I went to bed that night, the walking stick was firmly pressed, body clutching the hose beneath the toilet tank.

I went to sleep wondering if I’d awake to the big-eyed bug perched on my nose. I found it trying vainly to scamper up the slick tile in the bathroom, was able to capture it in my unmentionables and release it into the bamboo outside my door, immediately invisible. Still raining.

The Rinse: I filled my big blue speckle-ware pot with sprigs of rosemary and crushed aloe vera, added water, and simmered the mess for several hours. Using my keen sense of guestimate, I strained the liquid into a gallon jug and put it in the refrigerator. Using a quarter cup at a time, I now have a hair rinse to last weeks. More rain.

The Non-Picnic: It was a grand notion in the planning. Leo had manicured my back yard to formal park status. I invited Michelle, Ana and Janet to gather Sunday afternoon. We’d done this previously to good success, each bringing our own food and drink. Comfortable chairs in the shade beneath the Jacaranda. The African Tulip Tree is in full orange bloom. Couldn’t be more perfect; we get mouthy and hilarious, well, we think so.

Then the rains came. Again. More. Furiously. The ground mushed into soggy-boggy springiness. What had been manicured, seemingly overnight, raged into unruliness, rather like my dog Lola’s brushy bushy hair. Like too many recent events. We reluctantly, in full agreement, cancelled. No picnic. Visits virtual.

Phone Scam: That was exciting for a few minutes. Got a call from my “cousin”. He was in Guad for a conference and would have time for a quick visit. I mentally began preparing a menu. Then the second call came fifteen minutes later. He was in trouble. Security took his money. Bingo. Ha! Nephew, indeed. The voice had actually sounded like a cousin’s, his cadence of speech. I told him to call his mom and hung up. It’s raining so much my toes are starting to web.  

Bird: There is a white Pelican in the Fresno tree across the way. Maybe it thinks the treetop is a water lily. Raining.

Rain: My watch, clocks, calendar, all timepieces, are damp, dripping, moldy, rusty, covered with moss and/or drowned.

Remind me, please, of this day when I begin to complain that the rains have ended.

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my backdoor

September 9, 2021

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