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Monday, October 02, 2006 Somehow, under cover of the weekend, October elbowed September aside and settled itself in, the local world immediately changing to match it: gray, cold, damp. The kind of conditions that can get me retreating indoors. Which is what I did. Dragged my sorry (though adorable) booty out of bed yesterday morning, the house feeling MIGHTY chilly. Pulled on work clothes, hauled out the stepladder, went up into the crawlspace for a bout of laying in insulation. Called it quits after a joyful hour or two, climbed down the ladder, continued on down to the basement where I spent a while cleaning out the stove for the first time this season (me having broken down on Saturday and cranked up the season's first fire). After which: post-work clean-up, personal clean-up, then my reward: an hour or so at the dining table inhaling warm croissants. Outside, cold rain came down. And despite that, a mob of robins and flickers -- taking a break from travels south -- grazed around the yard and lawn, hoovering up crickets, grasshoppers and their various cousins that the week's cold nights hadn't managed to wipe out. Leaving the yard silent, all the late-summer/early-autumn insect music gone, a sure sign that the cold season is quietly, unstoppably overtaking us. A strange aspect of these last few weeks: observing the change in my downhill neighbor, Mo, who is suddenly appearing old and worn in a way he never has. He's a crusty old coot, Mo, and I mean that in the best, most affectionate way. Of the various characters on this hill, he's consistently been the friendliest, the most sociable, the most interesting since I bought this place 7+ years ago (back when Mo was a youngster of 77 or so). His body's gone through a lot in recent times, some of which has meant increasing physical limitations, slowly eliminating activities that have been part of his life for decades. Walking's become difficult, movement in general is far more limited, he's been in a fair amount of pain. The result: too much time sitting around, stewing about it all. Feeling, I think, helpless in a way he never has, in a way that may not be easy to accept for one used to being self-reliant and physically capable of ranging around freely. A couple of weeks back, he fell out of bed. His live-in sweetie, Barb, was off at her job driving a school bus -- when she returned, Mo had just gotten himself up off the floor. He didn't tell me how long he'd been there trying to get his feet under him, I didn't ask -- I got the feeling it might have been a long while. Barb's apparently suggested putting bars on the side of the bed that can be raised and lowered, Mo wasn't having any of that. I suggested surrounding the bed with wrestling mats, maybe installing a small TV and a little refrigerator. He cackled at the idea, but his eyes showed his unhappiness with the situation. I saw my parents go through their individual versions of that, struggling with it in very different ways. The old man caved in to it fairly quickly, surprising given the person of iron he'd been in earlier years. My mother fought it and fought it in a way that reminds me of what I've seen in Mo. We never know how long any individual is going to stick around this earthly cabaret. Which gets me thinking that I'll stop in at Mo's again soon, say hello, enjoy his company. It's strange how this life moves on. The present moment slips ever forward in time, the hours, days, months we pass through disappear into the past like leaves blowing down a road before an October breeze. España, te echo de menos. rws 6:56 PM [+]
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