I’m performing the Wednesday evening ritual of taking the garbage can to the street, rolling down the long path from my house to the street. The idea of “curbside garbage service” isn’t quite the same on a dirt road … there’s no curb. The distance from my house to the street gives me time to think, reflect and observe.
I limp slightly as the trash can follows me down the dirt driveway. Sore muscles in my legs protest an evening of sparring. It’s nice to have protective gear in the dojo. The unanticipated side affect of protective gear is that it encourages harder kicks and faster blows. My SaJiDo is improving, but my legs aren’t celebrating. I’ll be fine in the morning.
Alice wasn’t in karate class tonight. She was at dinner with her friend Marie, seeking some consolation after being laid off from her job. Tuesday’s voice mail said she had “news.” I mistakenly assumed the vague announcement had something to do with her kitchen renovations. Instead she was discussing unemployment benefits, severance pay and touching up her resume. She was happier tonight, as Marie helped put her kitchen back together. I was assured that the tile Suzan and I helped install over the weekend was still attached to the wall above the counter.
Soft dirt squishes under my shoes. The past few days’ rain has produced a number of puddles in my uneven dirt driveway. As I attempt to dodge them, I recall Suzan’s description of her day. Investigating a septic complaint required wading in ankle-deep water without the aid of waders or proper boots. The neighbor didn’t want to participate in the claim against the homeowner, so my wife had to approach the vacated property via the floodplain that backs up to the house. Her rewards for attempting to obey local property ordinances was a day spent in damp socks.
Daylight has long since faded, revealing a clear October sky. Pinpoints of light hover above the field. Some move across the sky, traveling to points unknown on the belly of silver birds. Others twinkle, held in place by invisible wires. It’s the first clear night in a long while, the first chance I have had to remember how glorious the Southern sky looks through crisp cold air. Two horses graze behind a humming electric fence, blissfully unaware of the evening light show.
I reach the mailbox, signaling the end of my journey. I plant the refuse container along side the road, hoping the garbage fairies will find a happy home for the spent beer bottles and white plastic bag of used cat litter. With my humble work complete I head for the house, dodging puddles under a clear October sky.
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