Broken clouds

Charlotte starts therapy today at the same time as Lily, which means by late afternoon the three of us will each be talking to different counselors in separate rooms, with Dawn waiting in the lobby with her book.

It’s afternoon already in Germany, and Eberhard is coming to take my mom to an airport hotel in Frankfurt where they’ll probably make a mini vacation out of it, overdoing it a bit, sending me bad photos later. In the morning mom will get on a plane for Seattle and land by noon, and I’ll get her at SeaTac then go to a bar in Issaquah where we’ll celebrate the start of our visit, and try to stay up as late as she can, probably 7.

My work contract now ends in July, and because we have family trips planned for August that means the soonest I’ll start work again is September. I’ll go to Las Vegas for a conference in a couple weeks and again, in July—likely the last times this summer I’ll need pressed shirts.

Outside, the cottonwood blooms have stopped and for the past couple weeks I’d sit out with my beer watching them fall, dubbing it ‘springtime snow.’ I tried to write a poem about the pattern they make going across the sun, linking it to a number of seemingly random pursuits (like blogging, or life) but it didn’t pan out.

The house to the east of us was vacant for four years, sold to auction with the intent of a tear-down followed by three new houses, but that didn’t pan out either, so the owners have finally resigned themselves to moving in to the existing house, and now they park their cars out back on the grass.

The grass had gotten so high that one day I spied an adult deer bedding down in it at dusk, and tried to capture the way she folded her legs in on herself and settled in, how the filtered sun through the trees made her face look calm and glow in the golden light. I wanted to feel that way, too.

A low is setting up shop off the coast from Alaska and we need to close the windows at night, or it will get cold. The fox glove are in full bloom and I’m starting to sleep in until 6. The other house to the north appears vacant now, a rental, so we worry what will come of the new residents.

We stopped our lawn service but extended them by one month, agreeing to pay cash vs. doing a contract and got the tractor serviced, followed by the generator, for fall.

Now I sit with my back to the large pine between our house and the new neighbors, the tree we’ll need to take out because it’s making the concrete patio buckle, disturbing the balance of the hot tub. And because we don’t have a fence between us and the neighbors I now have to be discreet about my manly habits: the belching, bottle-throwing, peeing on the shrubs or the side of the shed. All our excess. All our phones, tablets, apps, and counselors…and how badly I just want to head out to the woods and forget.

 

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in humor, Memoir, writing and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to Broken clouds

  1. The deer is a captivating image, Bill. They are almost mythical creatures here, in a country with harsh wildlife. So docile, cultured. Which makes the contrast with you and the back yard habits amusingly stark.
    Hope you find some naturequiet.

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Thank you Bruce! Didn’t know that about deer in AU. They’re kind of mythical, or still amazing to see here too. Never disappointed, lucky we have them so often in our backyards here in the suburbs. Thanks for the kind wishes….

      Liked by 1 person

  2. ksbeth says:

    and no reason not to go for a walk in the woods in the midst of all that

    Like

  3. kingmidget says:

    “All our excess. All our phones, tablets, apps, and counselors…and how badly I just want to head out to the woods and forget.”

    Indeed. Addition by subtraction.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. rossmurray1 says:

    I’ve been thinking of counseling for the first time. I say I’m fine since the diagnosis surgery, and the adjustments that has entailed, but I’m not sure I am. Plus all the other life gunk in there. The problem is also the huge limitations in options for me as someone seeking an English-speaking therapist in rural Quebec.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. It’s like you suddenly have to be domesticated. Welcome to polite society.

    I see a counselor. He’s an aging hippie who is a big proponent of meditation. Not Medication. I like him. Don’t know how much good it’s doing. I still hate everyone, which is to say, myself.

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Ha, hear that! I pretty much hate your guts, Mark. Always have.

      Like

    • pinklightsabre says:

      And on that note of meditation, my wife is reading that book Why Buddhism is True and enjoying it. Big fan of the meditation, from my daily walks. Maybe you get yours on the train? Reading blogs.

      Like

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