So long 54. With Thanksgiving late in the month this year it runs headlong into Christmas and no one’s missing a beat. My birthday fell the Sunday after turkey day and we went back to our favorite neighborhood restaurant, Jak’s.

I knew I’d grown up when I finally took interest in how our septic system works. Though most people never do unless there’s a problem. It started with the kitchen drain (as septic problems often do), then the crawl space to examine the plumbing. The parallels to the human body are striking: plumbing lines like veins; the crawl space, that dark interior of the body where unseen problems fester. This time, the stench of rodent urine and a rat carcass. I ordered a disposable haz mat suit from Amazon so I could crawl like a Marine through the dark to retrieve it. Researching bait and poison options; faulty gutters lead to standing water around the foundation. Mold.

Well anyway, happy birthday! We hired a hydro-jetter to clean the line and I self-inspected the septic chambers and hosed down the filter, watched many entertaining DIY videos. Shook off the bad Mercury-in-retrograde vibes and got a good night’s rest, hung Christmas lights outside, deep cleaned the oven after assaulting it on Thanksgiving. November is a fine month but I’m happy to turn the page. It’s all downhill from here.

On Sunday morning I sat in the dark texting with my mom and dad, my stepmom, drinking coffee and blogging with my thumbs. My favorite way to start the day. It would take a long time for the dark to lift but I was in no hurry. Last night’s dreams still hung in the air, with one foot in this world and one in the other.

Categories: Creative Nonfiction, Diary, Memoir

Tags: Creative Nonfiction, journal writing, Memoir, pacific northwest