I’m stumped. I don’t know if it’s because I have a headache or what, but I am having a devil of a time coming up with anything you might find interesting to read.
I’m using as my ‘featured image’ a photo of a spider that Karl and I came upon on our walk the other night. If you look carefully, you can see the rainbow background of a speed limit sign, which is where she was busily creating a rather massive web.
She actually made me screech when I initially approached to ask for her photo. She bolted across the web in my general direction so quickly that it freaked me out. I wonder if she was sleeping and I scared her every bit as much as (or probably even more than) she surprised me.
I was impressed by her size, speed, and beauty.
Another Thing
I’m ever vigilant about the evil Spotted Lantern Flies (SLF), and always on a hair trigger eradication campaign. Even though I’m pretty sure they’ve been spotted in abundance along the towpath, as well as other places surrounding us, I am hopeful that maybe we will escape the worst of this infestation.
I’m doing my part. I’m happy to report that, so far, we have not encountered more than one SLF per walk, and – even better – taken many walks without seeing any.
Karl always knows when I’ve found one, though, because a host of profanities suddenly spews onto the pavement, completely out of context to what we may have been discussing, as I vigorously stomp on the singlet I’ve discovered. And you have to either be quick or crafty when trying to smoosh these jerks. They quite unexpectedly jump/fly. Quickly, maddeningly, and far!
I’ve been trying to keep an eye out for egg masses but haven’t found any. So I don’t know if the occasional singlets I’m discovering may have been hitchhikers on cars passing by (which is my hope) or I’m just awful at spotting the egg cases.
I sure hope we can keep them at bay and avoid an infestation around here. Stay on the lookout for them and show no mercy.
After my session with a client today, I made a quick stop for a couple groceries. As I left the store, I decided to take the slightly more circuitous route home, which is actually my favorite way because it takes me alongside my beloved Tohickon. Almost always, when I take that route, I also give in to the temptation to stop and write for several minutes. Since it was drizzling out, I figured Karl wouldn’t want to walk, so the prospect of writing a page or two in my journal beckoned enticingly.
As I rounded the corner and approached a turnoff close to the creek, I encountered this sight: a man with his van door askew, seeming to herd a small deer into the front seat. I stopped a fair distance away, trying to get a better idea of what, exactly, I was seeing, and not wanting to add to the confusion by pulling up too close.
Photo: L. Weikel
I hadn’t been observing for more than minute when I realized the little one was definitely confused, and didn’t seem to be readily scampering off into the brush as the man was clearly trying to persuade it to do. It was hard to tell whether her sight was impaired, but it was clear she didn’t know which way to turn.
Dazed and Definitely Confused
At first, I rolled down my window and asked if I could help. His vehicle was a little over the center line and it was dangerously close to a corner where I know people often approach at a good, if oblivious, clip. The man welcomed my help, thinking maybe the two of us could herd her with more success. He said he’d just come upon her before I arrived and she’d almost walked right into the side of his van. He believed she’d recently been hit by a car – grazed, perhaps – but was probably going into shock.
Together, and with the rather aggressive and unexpected aid of another man who’d stopped behind my car, jumped out of his vehicle, and insisted upon yelling and waving his hands at her, trying to scare or bully her into getting off the road, we at least managed to steer her to the side of the road that had a deer trail leading off into the brush. She refused to get off the road, though.
Photo: L. Weikel
Rush Hour
When cars started piling up in both directions (remember, this is a country road; the trickier part was that it was right around 5:30 p.m.), the first man impulsively picked the deer up and placed her on the bank of weeds and brush just off the paved portion of the road.
Stunned, she just stood there, not more than two feet from the edge of the road. The drizzle had turned to a more steady rain by this time, and the four or five cars that had stopped in both directions had taken turns and moved along. Three or four stopped to ask if they could help. Most, sadly, barely put their foot near the brakes at all as they rounded the turn and came upon us.
Calling For Backup
As soon as he picked her up and placed her on the side of the road, the first man left. Another had parked his pickup on a triangular patch of land about a hundred feet away and came over to the deer and me. He suggested we call the police. Instead, I tried calling AARK, our local wildlife rehabilitation foundation, but of course they were closed for the day. No matter what we did, we could not get her to budge from where the first man had ‘deposited’ her. And neither one of us trusted that she wouldn’t immediately dart back into the road if we left her where she was.
Photo: L. Weikel
I called 911 and let them know our situation. About 15 minutes later, an officer arrived. In the meantime, the man, who introduced himself as John, and I stuck with her. As you can see from my photos, she let me get very close to her; in fact, I petted her head and neck, cooed and spoke softly to her the entire time, telling her that she needed to get further off the road and bed down. John said he’d heard a young deer had been wandering around the neighborhood the past few days; word was that the mother had been hit and killed and the youngster was lost without her.
When the policeman arrived, he was very sympathetic, but his options were limited. In fact, because she was not in the roadway at the moment, he could not technically do anything. (If she had been in the road…the option was not a pretty one.)
Banged and Confused
Neither John nor I were comfortable leaving her so close to the road, nor did we want her to be ‘put down.’ Being up so close to her, it did look like she’d been hit – grazed or banged her head – because she had some blood coming out of her nostril. Not a lot. And there was a little on her foreleg, but she clearly had no broken bones.
I was reminded of my screech owl, Hootie, who’d flown into my driver side door one snowy January night and nearly knocked himself out. (A story for another day.) That experience had taught me that animals can be extremely resilient if given an opportunity to heal.
Photo: L. Weikel
Into the Thicket
Once I realized we humans were just hemming and hawing, I decided to do something. I climbed up the rain-slicked, slight embankment so I was right beside her (hoping she wouldn’t get scared and dart out toward John and the policeman), picked her up, and started guiding her deeper into the thicket. I was delighted to see the vast amounts of poison ivy all around my sandaled feet. At one point, she balked and suddenly backed up, squeezing between my legs. The weeds and pricker bushes were positioned such that I had to carefully pick my way around them and circle back to get behind her once again and start all over.
All this time, John, the policeman, and another person who’d pulled up (I believe John’s daughter-in-law, from their conversation) were chatting and, I assume, watching me act as an erstwhile deerpoke-cum-whisperer. After a few more mutually clumsy thrusts and lunges deeper into the brush, she calmly looked up at me, bent her forelegs and knelt in front of me. She then gently settled herself into a bedding position and assured me she’d stay for the night.
It was raining softly. I was a bit chilled. But she was at least somewhat protected from the harshest of the elements. We all agreed that we’d done what we could, and it was up to her and Mother Nature to see if she would survive.
Yet another deer encounter…hopefully this one has a good ending as well.
A favorite memory of mine from my childhood is catching a floating milkweed seed, cupping it in my little girl hands, making a wish – and then **POOF** – blowing it into the breeze.
I would make a point of watching to make sure the seed floated away, which was not always a given. At least half the time, my hands would’ve squished the fluffy part attached to the seed, and maybe even dampened and matted it a bit, making it harder for it to stay aloft.
I always took those wishes very seriously. Just like the wishes made on the candles of one’s birthday cake. This was not stuff to be trifled with – I was never one to squander a wish on something simple like extra cookies for dessert or something. No.
Responsibility
I’m sort of surprised at how genuinely seriously I took the wish-making responsibility. I wonder where that sense of being aware of the consequences of what I asked for came from.
It was probably my next older sister, Edith, who schooled me in the gravity of wish-making. Or rather, the gravity of screwing things up if I wasted my wish or wished for something less than high-minded. There always seemed to be a cautionary tale emanating from her side of the room, reminding me of how everything could easily go south if I wasn’t careful.
Present Wishes
I’m grateful that I was schooled so early in being aware of what I ‘put out’ into the Universe. Certainly, she didn’t express it in those terms, but that’s what it was. And it quite obviously had an impact on me. I’ve been known to just blow milkweeds past because I don’t want to stand there trying to figure out what to wish.
I’ve also been accused of letting the candles burn down too far on my birthday cake as I hemmed and hawed on what to wish for before I blew them out.
The milkweed pods we found the other day, pictured above, remained untouched. I know I thought about Monarch butterflies when I took the photo. And that made me think of Mother Nature in a grander sense.
I know I’m wishing every day – with our without a milkweed seeds in my hands – that somehow we will all start looking around and realizing just how precious Nature and Mother Earth are. I wish everything didn’t end up having to be couched in selfishness and self-interest, as in the way most wishes go: ‘I hope we humans can start to appreciate nature because we can’t live without it.’
I wish for once we could wish for the preservation of nature and all that surrounds us simply because it is beautiful. Simply because it (whatever it is) is unique and precious and amazing in its own right.
Sand from Lake Winnebigoshish, Minnesota Magnified 100x
Almost every single thing we look at – if we look at it closely enough – is exquisitely beautiful. From sand to grass to the molecules of steel. It makes me sad sometimes that we lose sight of so much that’s truly important by getting distracted or being selfish or acting unconsciously.
Veering Off
I could take a hard turn right now and speak of wishing that people in power would stop for one moment in their self-centered machinations and realize the terrible destruction their impulsive decisions (wishes for more power? More money? More adulation?) may be raining down upon people far away. Faceless, nameless people who’ve had the rug pulled out from under them just a few days ago; who didn’t see it coming, who had no inkling everything in their world was about to be destroyed.
And for what?
I guess I wish the wishes of others might be launched upon the winds with greater care, compassion, and wisdom than seems evident. I wish the wishes of others were wishes that carried hope upon the winds instead of greed.
My wish tonight is that all of us be just a little more mindful of the wishes we make.
Wishing you a peaceful head and heart – and maybe a moment in which you See something of exquisite beauty today that’s been right in front of you, every single day.
I’ve read some comments and received some feedback on a few of my posts about reading and the difficulty I sometimes experience giving myself permission to make time (or is it allow time?) to bask in immersing myself in a book. So I’ve been pondering audiobooks.
Of course, a lot of my judgment around taking time to read books stems from unkindness to myself. And here I found myself having to go back to that last sentence and insert the word ‘books’ because, in truth, I spend a great deal of time – every day – reading. I read lots and lots of things every day; plenty of articles and emails, especially.
But books? Pretty much all the books I read are for pleasure. Even when they’re memoir, the reading of which I could (and should) legitimately tell myself is related to my own work as a writer, I still harbor some deep-seated sense that because I derive such pleasure and delight from reading a good book, it’s something I should put off until all my other responsibilities are addressed.
Rather draconian attitude, I know.
Obviously, it’s a big deal for me, since I’ve written about this a number of other times already in the past 11 months. Yet I still struggle with it.
Why Do I Resist Audiobooks?
As I mentioned at the outset of this post, I’ve had some suggest that I listen to books instead of reading them. That I snag time to indulge in books being piped into my head via earphones rather than my own eyes.
There are two primary reasons that suggestion doesn’t hold out a lot of appeal to me, and I’ve actually only just this second realized that they’re actually related.
The first is reflected in this fragment of a sentence: “…I’ve had some suggest that I listen to books…” Hmm. Yes. Precisely. The keyword here is (as is oft the case with me): listen.
Listening is what I do. It’s what I provide as a service to the people who seek me out in almost any capacity. It’s arguably my best attribute as a partner, as a friend, as a family member, as a healer, as an attorney, and basically, as a person. And my listening includes reading and responding to emails and text messages as well as actual verbal exchanges (be they in person or telephonic).
Silence, to Me, Truly Is Golden
Let me be perfectly and unambiguously clear: I love what I do. I love ‘being there’ for whomever needs me. And I wouldn’t trade the privilege of doing so for the world.
But! This also means that when I am driving (not long distances), cooking, washing dishes, and mowing the lawn (probably the four activities I do primarily in silence), I really do truly revel in that silence.
So the thought of filling those precious moments with more listening holds no appeal.
Long Distance Driving, Though?
Driving long distances is another matter entirely. And I can totally relate to the joy of becoming immersed in a great story as the miles fly by.
Actually, I could easily make the argument that listening to an audiobook while driving long distances is actually so incredibly efficient, it makes the entire endeavor of getting from Point A to Point B a win-win.
Indeed, Karl – who travels extensively with his work – has become completely enamored with ‘Libby.’ I’m not sure if that’s an app or a service provided by local libraries, but it enables him to now devour books as voraciously via his ears as he used to when he was a kid growing up with no television. (No, he isn’t that old. His parents just didn’t believe in tv.)
The funny thing is, as a result of Karl and so many other friends and relatives blowing through tome after tome via the wonders of Audible (etc.) and extolling the virtues of audiobooks, I’m actually in the process of figuring out the best way to record Owl Medicine, so it, too, can be accessed in that manner, as well as paper and e-book.
I’m all for progress. Even if I choose to stay ‘old school’ most of the time.
Weird sunset (No filter) 4 October 19 – Photo: L.Weikel
Wild Sunset
The sunset in the above photo was not tonight’s. It was taken Friday night, while Karl and I were taking a walk.
I have to say, I was thrilled when the colors of the evening sky actually came through accurately. I’m always trying to snap at just the perfect moment when the automatic focus is hitting the sweet spot, usually ever so briefly. It’s an elusive game I play with myself. And to be honest, I rarely win.
But Friday night? Yeah. I won the lottery. Take another look at that photo and really take in the exquisite manner in which the colors segue into each other not subtly, as is often the case, but dramatically. Blue sky here – and boom – yellow/orange butting right up to it. No gradual or subtle blending or shading.
Next Night
After experiencing that amazing sunset roughly halfway through our walk, I have to tell you: we were also enchanted by the night sky as the stars became more and more brilliant the longer we walked. Alas, you’re all spared my rather hackneyed attempts at trying to share what I see in that regard, since shots of the stars and moon are notoriously difficult to take. The beauty of the constellations, though, was exquisite.
Then, during yesterday’s walk, we crested one of our hills along our circuit and came upon a feast in the making. It turned out that someone nearby had lost one of their chickens. And from the looks of the carcass, it was quite obviously a fine, healthy layer-of-eggs.
Photos: L. Weikel
Nevertheless, I was surprised at how bold these vultures (which we were taught to call ‘peace eagles’ years and years ago) were in hanging close to us. If you look closely, you will see a number of them lurking on the branches of surrounding trees, as well as out front,
Once again, I took a bunch of photos with my iPhone, and all in all, I think they turned out pretty well. I can assure you, none of the five or six peace eagles were all that off-put by our presence; at least, the delicious morsels this sacrificial chicken was providing them were more than worth the choice to stick their ground and not fly off in a frenzy of fear.
Personally, I’m feeling their appearance this weekend was all about encouraging both Karl and me to allow the old ways of thinking and resisting to die. It’s time to recycle those old thoughts and limiting beliefs so that new experiences can be seen, experienced, and celebrated. And finally, it’s all worth the time it’s taking to bring in the new.
Here’s to a new and improved week of exploration in all that’s possible!
Looking a bit ragged from being dragged around everywhere – Photo: L. Weikel
This Is It
I realized something a little bit weird about myself this evening. (OK. I know. That fruit’s hanging so low you just need to leave it alone.)
It came to my attention when I felt a twinge of embarrassment as I plopped down on our couch in the midst of a conversation with my daughter-in-law, Tiffany. Everybody was sitting in the living room reading, and I was joining them for a few minutes before dinner was ready. As I settled into my usual spot on the couch, I pulled my book out from under the papers and pillow next to me.
My discomfort became obvious to me when I noticed her gaze lighting upon the book in my hands.
“Yeah…umm,” I stuttered. “Can you believe this?” I asked, waving the book in front of me, making a point to reveal precisely where my bookmark hovers, some 30 pages or so from the end.
I was painfully aware that Tiffany knew I’d been reading The Overstory voraciously at the beginning of last month, when I had a few days reserved at the cabin on the bank of the Tohickon. Indeed, I’d written two posts that made at least tangential mention of this unique and moving novel, with one of them extolling the virtue of solitude and the opportunity to engage in serious, hours-long binge-reading.
And yes, I’d reveled in those hours and the opportunity they provided me to give myself over to immersing myself in the several story lines that so artfully weave themselves though this book.
Busted
Yet here I was, still toting this book around, even though I’d raved about it seemingly at least year before, even though it was only a little over a month ago. I was ashamed.
I held the obviously dog-eared text aloft and made a point to highlight the bookmark’s location. “I can’t believe I haven’t finished this,” I said almost apologetically. I’d probably read 30 pages since leaving off after having read most of the book at the beginning of September.
“I only give myself permission to read for pleasure after I’ve written my blog post at the end of the day,” I admitted – hearing how awful that actually sounded when spoken aloud.
When she looked at me quizzically, I realized – oh my goodness – it is not even remotely an option for me to consider reading ‘for pleasure’ during the day. It’s just, I don’t know; there are so many other tasks that demand my attention during the day, it would feel frivolous to take time out to read for pleasure.
Delusion of the Self-Employed?
I’m not sure, but it’s possible that at least some of my reluctance to read for pleasure during the day stems from my belief that, especially being self-employed, I need to be furthering my work in some way all the time. With the exception, of course, of the precious few minutes I may still be conscious after I’ve written and posted my blog, shared it on FB, and slipped a bit bleary-eyed between the sheets.
Clearly, this is a delusion. And truth be told, I initially had as my heading, above, “Curse of the Self-Employed.” But you know what? That’s a crock. It’s an erroneous belief. It’s aberrant; a delusion. And if it is even remotely a ‘curse,’ it is the epitome of self-sorcery.
The only person putting that curse upon me is my little own self.
Let me be clear: Tiffany barely got a word in edgewise regarding my book. She was neither mean nor judgmental. Her expression, however, said it all.
Ninety nine percent of this internal conversation and these revelations took place within moments of my own realization of how embarrassed I was to be admitting this out loud.
Tomorrow’s Promise
And so, when I began this post with its title, “This Is It,” it was my intention to simply declare all of this malarkey for what it is and claim some time for myself this evening. Time to complete The Overstory so I can, first of all, achieve closure over how it’s all going to wrap up and, second of all, begin my next literary adventure.
But alas, it’s taken me a fair amount of time to articulate my evening’s revelation. And as often happens, I’m now going to futz around with uploading a photo or two, creating some links, messing with the SEO, and ultimately posting and sharing the link on social media. My eyelids will be drooping (even more than they are this very moment).
So the best I can hope for is to promise myself that tomorrow I will devote the hour or so I need to complete the book – in spite of the number of pressing items on my to-do list – even if, heaven forbid!, I need to take that time in the middle of the day.
I hope you’re routinely better at this than I am. Clearly, I yearn to improve.
This is what greeted me when I returned home this afternoon.
I don’t think the title to this post poses a legitimate question. Not if you take a close look at her mug. I’m pretty sure Sheila is not too subtly giving me the proverbial paw and asking me what I’m gonna do about it.
It was there. She was bored. It reminded her of her puppyhood. Case closed.
Did I leave her anything extra to eat when I left? No? It seems I was gone an awful long time. She was concerned. Stressed.
Oh, yeah – that snack bag of treats she took out of my jacket pocket, ripping the inside of it as she dug at it in a frenzy? They were old. Stale. I could’ve packed a higher quality treat in that snack bag, to be honest. She’d worked up an appetite teaching that stuffed owl a lesson. Rude bird. And then forcing her to play hide-and-seek in my coat pocket? Just for a snack? A snack she deserved?
She’s OLD, dammit! And half blind. And deaf. How could she have lifted a paw against that evil raptor?
Really, that owl was looking for trouble. It’s been taunting her for months – maybe years; hard to say – her perspective is canine. And a girl can only take so much before her paw is forced. These weird stuffy things need to be shown who’s boss. She’s boss.
Disavowal – Photo: L. Weikel
Ick. No. Don’t put it near her. She doesn’t want to look at it.
The pileated woodpecker who visited on my birthday – Photo: L. Weikel
Stress Eating
I’m sitting here on my couch once again trying to think of something even remotely interesting to write about and all I feel like doing is eating. Stress eating, since I can’t say I’m particularly hungry. But I crave endorphins. I want some comfort.
Seriously. I sit here noticing that my brain is saying, “Have some chocolate.”
“No.”
“No? Why not? It’s OK. Certainly better than ice cream.”
“Ooooh, yeah…ice cream would be so delicious. Thank goodness we don’t have any in the house. And anyway, no!”
I’m even contemplating excavating a beer from the bowels of my refrigerator (which of course is continuing its relentless on/off nonsense, but since the repairman essentially said he could attempt to repair it but it likely wouldn’t fix the problem and could easily cost close to half the price of a new refrigerator, we decided to just use it until it conks out). And anyway, the only reason I would drink a beer would be to get a buzz – and my pleasure in that would be short-lived, at best.
Think of Other Things
I don’t want to follow up on the disappearing birds post just yet. It’s too early; too soon. While I’m hearing from a number of people who live near me that they’re noticing the bird disappearance as well, I’m sort of feeling like I should give it a few more days. Maybe they’ll come back.
Although that seems unlikely.
Beyond the local corroboration, I’ve also heard from a few others as well. From places as far away as the southern Jersey coast, Baltimore, and even western North Carolina, when called to their attention, people are noticing that things are suddenly quiet. And the quiet is sudden: it’s been about two weeks or so.
The Elephant in the Room
Then there’s politics. I could write about that. But…no. I’d rather stress eat. In fact, what we’re all watching unfold (if we’re paying attention) is both riveting and revolting.
I feel like we’re going to have the limits of our republic tested over the coming days, weeks, and months. I am adamant that I do not want to gain weight over everything that’s going to come out and be revealed. And quite frankly, that’s why I’m not going to eat anything now – neither to soothe myself nor to quell my yearning for a ‘win’ – because I refuse to sabotage myself.
So this is where I am this evening. Up-to-date on breaking news. Falling asleep mid-sentence to the deeply resonant snoring of Sheila. Dealing with it all by contemplating snarfing up something sweet.
Fair warning? I may not be able to muzzle myself over politics much longer. I don’t know. I feel like something even bigger than has been unfolding this week and last may ‘drop’ tomorrow.
In the meantime? Stay strong, my friends. Big changes are coming. And while the change itself may be hard and painful as we move through it, I hold firm to a vision that we will come through this stronger, healthier as a nation, and more compassionate.
Over the course of the past two or three weeks, I’ve made a disturbing observation. All of a sudden the vast majority of our birds are gone.
Gone!
The weirdest thing is that they seemed to have ‘flown the coop’ within a day or so of the publication of an article that revealed that there are now 29% (which equates to 2.9 billion) fewer birds in the United States since 1970.
It’s as if the birds in our yard heard the news and decided to get the heck out of Dodge.
I may make a joke about it, but I’m actually profoundly concerned. And freaked out, to be honest, over what’s happening specifically in my yard.
Not For Lack of Food
Believe me, this cannot be blamed on me failing to fill the birdfeeders, either. I think that’s almost the worst part. Because that’s something that can easily be remedied.
I can tell it’s not even a case of them suddenly becoming shy and not wanting to visit the feeders while I’m on the porch (which has never been the case anyway), because even when I leave for the day or work inside, the feeders haven’t been touched – in hours.
Photo: L. Weikel
Another Case of Noticing the Silence
I’ll have to go back and count how many posts I’ve written that contain references to or are all about the birds in our yard. As any of you who’ve been reading my posts throughout this 1111 Devotion/Act of Power extravaganza know, my birds are precious to me.
The weird thing is, just like the monotonous and relentless sound of autumn crickets and the irritating sound of dysfunction emanating from my refrigerator, the chatter, clatter, and flutter of the myriad birds that usually visit our feeders is something one takes for granted and almost – almost – grows immune to. But the silence would descend upon the feeders occasionally, and once I paid attention, I would almost always be able to track a hawk hanging out near the barn or on a telephone pole across the road.
Indeed, when I first started noticing the dearth of chirping going on at our feeders a few weeks ago, I commented to Karl that “there much be a hawk nearby.” It was weird, though. No matter how much I paid attention, I could not track a hawk. And the smaller birds that almost never leave the feeders for very long at all, sparrows and goldfinches, but also ALL my woodpeckers, chickadees, and nuthatches are not here.
Freaking Out
Full disclosure? Just writing this post and enumerating even some of the birds I’ve been sharing my life with and realize are now missing is making my heart race.
Today? I kid you not, I saw ONE blue jay and ONE rather ragged looking goldfinch. THIS. IS. NOT. NORMAL.
Something feels like it’s sinking in with me. Is this something much larger than I realized? I don’t know, but I would like to ask all of you to check in on your feathered neighbors. Make a point of noticing whether your feeders are requiring fewer fill ups. Pay attention to who’s showing up in your vicinity.
I have a terrible feeling. Please, please, let this not be the beginning of our Silent Spring.
At least I walked my talk this evening. I just came inside from standing on the back end of our porch, overlooking our barn, and doing the EoP Biodiversity Process. Even though I didn’t get home until quite late this evening, I made a point to remember to engage in the simple process before the clock struck midnight. I managed to get the process completed by the hair on my chinny chin chin.
It’s weird out tonight. The atmosphere got muggy and distinctly warmer. The crickets and katydids are maintaining their ‘stuck on’ calls, creating a monotonous backdrop to everything. They are so relentlessly ‘on’ that when they suddenly stop, for whatever reason, it takes a moment to realize the silence.
Delete, Delete, Delete
I just had a bunch of stuff written and I decided to delete it. I didn’t want to even chat good-naturedly about all the appliances and other things abruptly ceasing to work around our house. It’s frustrating, and it’s one of those things that seems to happen in waves.
What brought it to the forefront of my mind was my comment about the crickets and katydids and how relentlessly they sing.
This prompted me to focus my attention upon our refrigerator. It’s been relentlessly going on and off, on and off (with an empty <<ping>> at the end of each shutoff of something) for a couple days now. It had been doing this a few months ago, but then stopped. Of course, our ice maker stopped at the same time, but Karl’s been keeping me in ice, so I barely noticed.
Well it restarted again just last week. Wednesday night, to be exact. On/off. On/off. On/off <<ping>>. I can’t tell exactly what it is, but I can’t imagine something turning off and on, over and over again, can be good for anything mechanistic. And whenever it turns on, there’s some sort of fan or something that’s turning on, so that starts whirring. Over and over again.
I managed to get an appointment with a repairman for Friday afternoon (after my appointment at the Toyota dealership). But of course…just like the crickets and katydids…
It took us a bit, but we suddenly realized that the annoying noise had ceased.
Long story short, I cancelled the appointment for Friday afternoon and we crossed our fingers that perhaps it had resolved itself on its own. (Yeah, I know. A ridiculous fantasy. But oh well.)
So Predictable
You and I both know what happened. The stupid refrigerator resumed its nonsense by Saturday night. And now – right now – I am listening to it go on/off. On/off. But now it pings three or four times in a row sometimes. Randomly.
Ah yes.
Tomorrow morning we find out if it’s a motherboard or something, or the compressor. One is fixable, the other means it’s earned a trip to the appliance graveyard.
All through writing this post, that refrigerator has been doing its thing, annoying the absolute stuff out of me. And now? As I go to hit <<publish>>?
