Early a couple mornings ago I lay awake listening to the key turn noisily downstairs in the infuriatingly fussy front door (like picking the lock to your own place) as the boys’ mother slipped out of the house in foggy predawn darkness above the valley and her crunchy footsteps in the gravel were replaced by a metaphorical light bulb in my head flickering to life and with a mixture of relief and incredulity it dawned on me a wedge was finally available to begin writing again on WordPress. You see, the prior evening a real light bulb exploded in the dining room and that’s what’s called turning a lemon into an a-ha! moment and I know the device is corny but I’ve gotta go with it as this particularly long, fallow period in the archive has tormented me so.
At any rate, the ceilings in the downstairs of the old house are ten feet high and as the fixture in question was inside of a large, inverted pendant, a little monkey business with the space-time continuum will reveal shrapnel from the bulb spinning light-speed around the bowl at supersonic orbit before topping the rim whereupon inertially depleted the whole mess ejects airborne far less hazardously (it got everywhere, though). So it was I crawled about all fours underneath the dining table in search of glittering, jigsawed shards and this enterprise was dramatically complexified by our lack of recent housekeeping owing to a case of pinkeye, big brother’s school camping trip up to Orcas Island last week (hang the sleeping bag out and fight the October moldies) and a long weekend on the coast. Crumbs representing every food group, ossified and petrified over a period of several years into more convenient vacuumable crystalline form, reflected sparkles of light from my headlamp which similarly resembled….. razor-sharp glass. Sigh. Anyone knows vacuuming glass is an ill-advised shortcut of last resort so waddling with elbows and knees on the floor like an arthritic Corgi, periodically splaying about in despair like some kind of human lint brush, can you imagine the futility? I’m not some kind of stoic. Adam was supposed to be brushing his teeth and putting on pajamas instead of standing in the doorway a comfortable distance, supervising me here and there to old cracker crumbs and sesame seeds. He pointed out several pieces of large glass but got fed up and walked over in exasperation, “nooooooo, right heeeeerrre!”. He’s such a good boy, haha! Mutually therapeutic chuckling and guffawing reminisces followed about Lucy the Pug and how she used to keep the floor so darn clean but we had to keep a lid on it. God knows how Oliver Fern slept through the explosion and we weren’t about to disturb his beauty rest.
In other happenings, this week it was legendary Jimmy Hendrix’s aunt’s turn-of-the-century house around the corner getting new siding and today the abatement fellows began removing the old asbestos and the process seemed dubiously suspect if I’m to tell the truth, another toxic calling card of the Great Rapacious Emerald City Real Estate Gold Rush I thought was supposed to be petering out. Yesterday, Adam reported he missed all of social studies because of earthquake drills and this morning Oliver Fern had his first routine eye exam- a jet fighter pilot career is still on the table (he has been practicing in X-Plane and you’d be surprised). In the photography department, I’ve got a firmware update to do on the Fuji. A goal of mine is to fall in with a photography club this winter because shooting at night seems to arouse more suspicion than it used to and the boys just can’t stay up that late (and it’s not as though they can stand off to the side reading a book in the dark).
postscript: I wrote this last Friday. Wow. I’m certainly picking up where I left off with hard-to-read, florid stream of consciousness. Still, it’s good to be back at the old Model Seven spraying fountains of messy gold sparks into the air as it were!