In My Next Life . . .

 

In My Next Life . . .

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 We stood side by side on the ditch bank, relaxed, Dad leaning on his irrigation shovel. The July afternoon was quiet, air hardly moving, hot, dry. I was in high school but I can’t remember which year.

A wisp of cloud lifted above the horizon. We stood together, in silence, watched the cloud gather substance. The spring rains had abandoned us that year. Here it was, mid-summer, and the earth gasped for moisture.

We tracked that cloud all the way from the cusp until nearly overhead. Time had no meaning. And we watched that little bit of hope dry up and dissipate above us, turn into nothing, disappear.

Dad looked at me with a half-smile, his eyes full of humor, and kind of shook his head. Then he headed off across the field of sugar beets and river water to shore up a bank across the way. You know, that is one of my favorite memories, that moment of hope, gone, and accepted.

I like weather. I talk about it all the time. Still raining here, by the way. None of the younger people can remember a year so wet. My concrete patio is leaching calcium and lime so I know the water table is right up to there. I don’t worry about flooding but what if my house simply slides off the foundation while the earth turns?

When I was younger I never thought to be a meteorologist. Well, that’s not totally true. Back in the mid-70s I lived in Great Falls. My next door neighbor Bob, formerly a weatherman with the Merchant Marine, was then a meteorologist up on Gore Hill. To maintain certification, he periodically had to take a test. I borrowed his exam book and read every page, fascinated.

I could have done that. In a more perfect world. My world at that time was poverty and survival and I’m afraid I could not have recognized opportunity had it stomped on me.

My problem is that I found too many fascinations. Looking back, my life seems to be divided into chapters. I suspect we all at times have wished we could relive part of our lives differently. But would we?

My life story has a couple ugly chapters. But given how hard-headed I am, I suspect those chapters were necessary. In retrospect, I would not trade them, mostly, I confess, because I can’t.

I control my life just as well as I control the weather, that is, not at all. If I wiped out the ugly chapters, I’d wipe out a lot of beautiful experiences. So best just accept them and move on.

Life. Weather. My own self. We’re all a mish-mash.

My refrigerator quit working. The ice-cream is soup. The repairman is here.

Today was partly sunny after raining from 6:00 last evening through to 8:30 this morning. My lime trees planted in the lower part of my yard show signs of distress from too much water. They might die dead. Clouds are rolling in quickly, setting the stage for tonight’s promised thunder storms.

I’m on the patio, waiting for the news, good or bad, from the repairman. Lola, my hairy mutt, sensing my distress, bounded over and buried her face against my leg, as if to say, “Just bury your fingers in my ruff, yes, behind my ears, over a bit, yes, right there, because I know that always makes you feel better.”  

If there is a next life, I doubt I’ll have any more control than I do with this one. Knowing me, I’ll need some lessons in living, both hard and soft. Best to just pay attention as it unfolds.

After all, it doesn’t get much better than this, watching the clouds gather into piles, knowing they carry moisture, Lola at my feet!

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

October 7, 2021

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