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Thursday, February 24, 2005 B., my latest houseguest, arrived Sunday, early afternoon. What ensued: hours of conversation, a trip into Montpelier for a good movie (Almost Peaceful) and a good dinner at the town's only barbecue joint. B. had originally been thinking of returning home the following day, to Cape Ann, north of Boston. Instead, we woke up the next a.m. to find that snow had begun coming down during the night. It continued falling, the day became one of blabbing, eating, relaxing, driving back into Montpelier that evening for another good movie (Million Dollar Baby). B. has pointed out that odd things sometimes happen when we hang out together. For instance, April of 2002: during a weekend visit here by Himself and a handful of other weirdos, we were all awakened in the early hours by a small earthquake centered in upstate New York. November, 2004: Immediately after a 2-3 day rendezvous with B. north of Milano, another small quake rattled that area. This time: nothing quite as earthshaking. After returning from the day's jaunt into town, we got into a bit too much talk about some recent events that had gone a bit less wonderfully than desired. Within minutes, I picked up the phone to discover the line dead again. We cranked up a DVD, my stereo amplifier -- freshly back from repairs needed in the wake of the person who took care of this place from November through January (see entry of February 7) -- began misbehaving. Post-DVD, sitting at the dining room table discussing the phone/amplifier, B. mentioned that he's experienced moments when 'everything' (his word) in his living space went down at the same time. A moment or two later, the house carbon monoxide alarm goes off. After several hilarious minutes spent exploring the various possible sources of CO, finding no problem anywhere, the alarm quieted down, we called it a night, headed to our respective bedrooms. This impish universe of ours: it's got far too active a sense of humor, don't you think? Monday morning: after taking the needed time to get the stove going, eat and inhale enough caffeine to drag me somewhere near full consciousness, I pulled on heavy weather gear, got ready for the drive to a phone booth and the latest in the ongoing series of calls to Verizon's repair service. Just as I headed out, the neighbor whose phone I'd used two days before [see entry of February 20] materialized, letting me know that this time their phone was also out, as was my uphill neighbors'. He'd tried to call Verizon the night before, failing to locate a real person to speak with, leaving many long, stressed messages instead. I drove slowly -- through countryside sleeping beneath accumulating snow, wind blowing sheets of white powder across the sparsely-traveled two-lane -- to the nearest village. Called Verizon, managed to get a genuine human being who then put me on hold, disconnecting me. Called again, got another human being who did the same. The third managed to hang on to me, said they were aware of the outage, that it would be taken care of by that evening. And since it was a line problem, no one would need to get into anyone's house -- important, that, considering the goofiness of two or three days earlier. By 2:30, heavy snowfall had become flurries, phone service had been restored. Since then, everything technical has performed flawlessly -- me appreciating the bejesus out of it all, enjoying the adventures, feeling mighty taken care of in the middle of wacky happenings. Shortly after the dial tone reappeared, during meal prep. and continuing conversation, B. and I found ourselves getting into a heated exchange, seriously, intensely so, one that developed unexpectedly after him mentioning the suicide of Hunter S. Thompson. A kind of event I rarely experience, am rarely inclined to get into -- in this case, I felt the inclination and stayed with it, a measure of my trust and regard for B. The conversation moved forward, the air thick with energy and flying words, neither of us having what I would call a ball, but hanging in, listening to each other and to ourselves, gradually pulling out of it into a place of greater clarity, ease, relief. I haven't experienced much of that conflict-leading-to-positive-result thing in this little life of mine, and sure as hell didn't see it role-modeled in my family. Anger generally meant danger in the childhood home scene, of the physical variety in younger years (beatings, or poundings around the face and head, that sometimes seemed to explode out of nowhere), emotional violence at other times (from lack of training, lack of inner resource, not from lack of personal quality or good intent, both of which were abundant in our clan). So I appreciate that my inner radar has sharpened to the point of being able to indicate who might be capable of working things through in healthier ways, and I appreciate attracting relationships into my life that can weather passages like that and come out of them intact, maybe stronger. A great person, B. -- a fine individual to spend some time with. He hit the road Tuesday morning, real life has since taken hold here with plenty to be done. Next Tuesday brings the return trip to Madrid, I'm well into the speeding up of time that customarily takes place in the days before one of these transatlantic shifts -- the days packed with things to be done, details to keep track of, the passing hours gradually accelerating as the calendar slouches closer and closer to the departure date. This life of ours: it's one big kick in the pants. ************ Thank you, Hunter S. Thompson, for producing some groundbreaking, deeply influential writing. There are professional scribblers who would kill to have come up with just one installment of your early publishing trifecta. Anyone looking for a good read could do worse than to seek out 'Hell's Angels,' 'Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas' (still one of the funniest, most outrageous books I've ever read), and 'Fear and Loathing On The Campaign Trail.' Madrid, te echo de menos. rws 10:25 AM [+]
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