Our Town, Back in the Day, and other attempts

    If you were asked to name the best day of your life or the most important day in your life, or the happiest day, chances are they would not be the same day. Wedding day, the birth of your child, moving into your first home are monumental days to remember, for sure, but if we were privileged to look back on all the days of our lives, to find the happiest time spent, it could most likely be a day that seemed to be completely ordinary. At the time.

  Emily, a  character in Thornton Wilder's "our Town" who has died young in childbirth, has her request answered, and is allowed to relive one day in her life. She  does not wish to be overwhelmed by a  significant event, so she chooses the day of her 12th birthday.   Needless to say, witnessing the beauty and enormity of the common and ordinary events of her past life affects her so deeply that she asks to be taken back to the cemetery. 

 If we the living are to learn any lesson from a viewpoint into our past, and passing, lives, we could be aware that it is the ordinary interactions with others that mean the most and gave us the most pleasure. What was the best day of your life?  The day you got a raise at your job? The day the mortgage was paid off? The day you received a community service ward? The day you collected on a bet?  Or was it a time you found a folded up note from your young child telling you how much he loved you, or the time you shared a secret with your sister, or a summer day when you sat in the sun and time seemed to stand still.  You can look at old snapshots and see yourself young and healthy and smiling:   could one of those days have been the best day of your life? And you were completely unaware at the time. 

  In memory of one who recently died, a relative recalled a youthful memory of him, "smiling, with the summer sun on his face." Maybe that was the best day of his life, and no one was aware.  As Emily said, overcome by her discovery from beyond, "The living don't understand."

March 9, 1905---October 30, 1983

 

To dream...

     I went to the bank with a paper for a project that needed approval.  There was a line of cars ahead of mine so I had to wait a while. A red car moved out of line ahead of mine, but then reversed course and moved back in line. I waited. By the time I got inside the bank, the other customers had all left. Only 2 bank people were there, one the manager and the other apparently an assistant. I presented my paper contract to the manager  for approval of the project. He was a man of young middle age, with the beginnings of a receding hairline, and was clad in a gray suit. He and the other man were standing in the middle of the room when I entered. And he was completely disinterested in my request at first. And then he said, no, he wouldn't sign. I tried to explain the importance and that it was usual for a person in his position to indicate approval by signing. Finally, he took the paper, and put a checkmark on the signature line. That won't do, I said. He left the area, not answering. The assistant seemed sympathetic, but he could offer no help. I told him I knew it didn't matter to them, but that I may close my account, after all these years. But first, I would appeal to the main branch to see what help they could offer.  

    So I left the bank, and started to drive up a small slope out of the parking lot when my car stalled. The car I drive now has never stalled. I  was alone in the car as usual, and felt dismayed, but I turned the key and it started right up. I was relieved. As I entered the main road, There was a small gray and black convertible pulled off on to the shoulder. The top was down and the car was filled with youths laughing and joking. It drove away ahead of me and I was reminded of frivolous teen drivers and their reckless behavior, hoping that was not a personal revelation. 

     I had just begun the drive home when I heard the ring of a telephone. Wait, I thought, that doesn't sound like the ring of my cell phone.  It sounds like my land line. I answered it and a voice asked how was I doing today. I hung up.

Bees-a- Burden Hole #3

   Filled in the last, and deepest, varmint-excavated bee hole today. And also planted a tree, albeit a small hydrangea.  Bring on winter.

Albatross, they call it , or so I hear.

 Dave was very proud of this accomplishment:

He carried this clipping in his wallet ever since.

Birdies, Eagles, Albatrosses, And the Condor

Chores

   I decided to deal with the ground-bee nests that a skunk or possum or bear dug up a few weeks ago. I've been putting it off but knew I should fill the holes soon. Last year, there was a similar excavation of a bee hole in the back yard, the hole being easily avoidable until the fall leaves covered it. I'd forgotten  where it was until one day walking around the house to the back yard, my foot stepped into the hole, and I  slid down the slope, expecting to hear the snap of a broken ankle, but fortunately, I was unscathed. Lesson learned.

  I marked this year's excavations with a sign, at first to warn others of the danger at my doorstep, but after I poured boiling water down the three dug-out holes and the bees were long gone, I left the sign, now with its message worn away, as a memo to me to avoid stepping in the holes. 

  First step was to find a pail and shovel and find a place to dig some dirt. I went to the bank at the back of the property, battling mosquitoes all the way, despite the application of Raid. I filled the pail and poured the dirt down the first, smaller hole.  It was like pouring water into the ocean. I remembered from last year researching ground bees, and finding their underground communities are bee versions of Sim City, extensive underground civilizations. Added dirt  just lay along the pathways. I needed something more solid so I  brought my bucket to the side of the road and filled it with the chunks of blacktop that constituted gravel in the eyes of the suboptimal company that did  roadside grooming a year or so ago. I dropped the pieces down into the two smaller holes and topped them off with the dirt. Exhausted by manual labor, I figure I'll  deal with the largest hole later, or maybe wait until snow fills it in.