Well. We got a heap of snow dumped on us a couple of days back. It's hard to take an accurate measurement here on the hill with the wind blowing everything around, but the total came to somewhere between ten and eighteen inches. Enough that trying to walk through it gets goofily tricky, all the drifting combining with changing ground inclines to make life far too interesting. One minute, the snow's at manageable, upper-shin height, next step you're in it up to the crotch, flailing around to maintain balance. Turns a simple walk into involuntary slapstick.
Must complicate existence for local wildlife, all that sudden accumulation. Traffic at the bird feeder has shot way up, gangs of birds descending on it in flurries of little bodies, battling for access. Leisurely attendance at the beginning of the month has morphed into a more intense, day-long affair, one wave of diners giving way to another, hour after hour. In conditions like this, they're not coming for the fine ambience of Casa Runswithscissors -- it's more along the lines of survival.
Meanwhile, during the last ten days I've attempted several times to stop and visit Mo, my downhill neighbor, to see how life's been treating him -- on each occasion, his pick-up truck was gone, he was off somewhere having a life. At midday today, on the trek to the mailbox, it looked like his truck might be there. I made the walk down the hill, confirmed he was in, knocked at his door.
He sat at his kitchen table, peering out at the person on the porch, my face not registering because as far as he knew I was still in Madrid. I waved, he gestured me in, his face showing growing surprise as it sank in who it was. I shook his hand, studying him -- a hunter's cap riding his close-cropped gray hair, his face sporting a day's worth of gray stubble, thick body wearing the usual ensemble of country/utilitarian clothes. Looking pretty hale for his 83 years. Looking better than folks I've known who were ten or twenty years younger.
He asked why I was back, I gave him the 25-words-or-less summary and took a seat, we got to catching up.
On the way into the house, I'd noticed a car parked in the short driveway next to Mo's pick-up, figured he had company. Which usually means someone sitting at the table with him, gabbing. Not the case this time. I heard a vacuum cleaner running, saw a heavyset woman working on the carpet down the hall in the living room. She glanced my way, I waved, called out hello, getting nothing in return. A cleaning woman, I figured, Mo acknowledging advancing age by hiring someone to come in and help out.
Instead, it Mo informed me that he had a new relationship, the woman someone he'd known for 20 years, married to a cousin of his who died two years back. At some point during recent months, Mo and Barbara connected up, found they enjoyed each other's company, decided that since they were both getting on there was no time to waste, and set up housekeeping together. "We have an awful lot of fun together," he said, me feeling an enormous smile taking form on my silly face as I listened. Because really, this kind of news makes my day. Apart from Mo being a great guy for whom I wish the best, the old coot's 83, an age when most folks who'd lasted that long would be slowly fading away. He's not only tooling around the woods on his ATV and reading up on coyote hunting (they've apparently overrun the state) with the intent of bagging one or two, he's got a new romance going.
Barbara finished up with the vacuum cleaner, Mo introduced us, me shaking her hand, saying it was good to meet her (and meaning it), her mumbling something shyly, looking me briefly in the eye before retreating to the living room. I heard the television go on in there, the sound of a game show.
When the time came to head back home, I poked my head into the living room to say good-bye. Barbara got to her feet, walked slowly into the kitchen behind me. I did up my coat, Mo and I continued talking right up to the time I stepped out onto the porch and beyond, Barbara watching at a window. I made the hike up the hill thinking about this neighbor of mine, a guy as unique as you could ask a person to be. Wondering what other surprises he'd have in the coming weeks and months, looking forward to further revelations.
He's a walking reminder of the absurdity of trying to pigeonhole people. Every single one of us has the capacity to surprise in amazing ways.
Just one more example of the endless stream of things that make life worth living.
Madrid, te echo de menos.
rws 10:11 AM [+]
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