Fall Down Stairs, No Walk Today

December 18, 2010.  Saturday.

Situation:  Last night I went online to set up a blog.  After about two hours, rather than the 5 minutes that the servicer suggested it would take, I had a title page.  But when I tried to post my introduction, although I was told that the upload was successfully completed, I couldn’t find it anywhere on the site.  Then when I was walking downstairs I missed the bottom step and landed hard on my leg, the ice from my drinking glass flying across the kitchen table.  The tendons of my leg and hip were jarred, and I can barely walk this morning.  Plus I must have churned up juices in my digestive tract, because I’ve been burping up a rancid taste in my mouth, and my energy is low.  I’m going to beg off taking Mway for a walk, at least for now.   The bigger problem is that I have to work tonight, at a place other than with Moi.  It’s not a simple matter of calling in sick: I’d have to find a replacement for myself, and I’d lose my entire pay.  I don’t know yet what I’m going to do.  Maybe I will go soak in the tub.

Some Things I Haven't Mentioned Before

December 17, 2010.  Friday.

Situation:  This morning, the last dream of my night’s sleep was about keeping this journal.  I dreamed that I was taking note of some plants, some sort of white flowers, that were persisting into winter time, but then I realized these were not old flowers but new ones coming up.  Then I started seeing other flowers that had come up, which I didn’t know the names of and some of which were appearing behind trash cans in our house, and I suddenly had a feeling of being overwhelmed, that another whole year was arriving in which I’d have to take note of the plants and try to learn their names.  While I was lying in bed, thinking about this dream, I could hear Mway outside barking, undoubtedly outside with Moi, then a little later Moi opened my bedroom door to tell me she was going out and that she had taken Mway out.  I got up to sit over the edge of the bed, and Mway came sauntering into the room, to be pet on the head a couple times, then went sauntering out.  So far today I have no work to do, or rather I have a job I could do that will take all of two minutes to do but waste an hour or more of travel time.  I don’t know whether I should take Mway for a walk or not – but what am I fretting about?  Moi has taken her out, but not for a walk.  So I’m going to check my email, then I guess I’ll take Mwayla out.

State of the Path:  I’m wondering what possibly else could I say about the path – or, on the other hand, I’m thinking of all the things I’ve never mentioned.  Under one of the bare shrubs by the springhouse there’s a bright red, plastic ball, slightly smaller than a basketball, only revealed now in the winter time – probably has been there since the kids were small, or maybe it’s part of the pool paraphernalia that got tossed over here unaccountably.   In the walled garden, I look into the old orchard and see a second PVC pipe next to the one leaning against a tree.  When I get over to the tree, I at first can’t find the second pipe, but then I spot it – it seems to have moved and turned in another direction.  I see the bottoms of briars and sumac saplings chewed bare, probably by rabbits.  Near the hedgerow, I look into the bare honeysuckles and see a cement block, covered with moss.  I hear the chirp of a bird and see two birds – neither of which I can identify.  The one bird – I can say this – is gray and has white feathers on its tail.

State of the Creek:  At the former log jam, I poke my walking stick into the ice.  It’s thick, but I manage to break through it after several pokes.  I still see Moi’s green plants, but they look pretty pathetic, frozen into the ice.  The ball of the sun shines in my eyes as I walk along the creek.  At the narrows, there’s a rotted log athwart the path that’s a little problem to step over since there’s not much space here; it looks like its trunk was in the ground along the bank, but more likely it’s a log that was washed up here in the last high water.  I walk over to the crest of the skating pond.  A couple weeks ago I saw a golf ball on the ground, but I don’t remember picking it up, so I look for it, but I don’t find it.  As I walk by the frozen pond between the ridges, the ball of sun again shines in my eyes.  On the other side of the ridge, as I walk toward the clearing, I look at one of the evergreens sitting in the middle of the field.  Last night Moi mentioned to me that Ezra is concerned about the coyotes in his woods.  Because they didn’t see as much deer this year as they usually do, he thinks the coyotes might be getting them.  But Moi added that, because Ezra had his woods cleared, there’s a lack of cover for the deer.  “Out on our property,” Moi said, “there’s a lot of cover, in all those places we don’t walk.  There could be lots of deer bedding down there.”  As I look briefly at the evergreen tree and the area around it, I think, yes, anything could be in there.

The Fetch:  I toss the birch branch around the circle, Mway running after the stick to the various points where it lands, bringing it back and dropping it at my feet, spinning and barking as I bend over to pick it up.  Today as it lands against the frozen ground it resonates and makes thuds with different pitches and timbres.  Sometimes when it lands it sounds like a bass drum or a tom tom, other times like a marimba.  When it lands in the goldenrod it sounds like the swish of brushes against a snare drum.  On the way back to the house, while Mway’s running ahead of me with the stick she’s fetched enough times to her satisfaction, I spot something on the ground that looks like the guts of a field mouse.  It’s red and green, and I think it could also be a seed pod or something from a plant.  I poke at it with my walking stick, but I don’t know what to make of it.  Back in the house, Mway skitters around her food dish, looking up at me with a smile.  “You already had your breakfast,” I tell her.  I toss her a biscuit.  “Here, you can have this.”

Note Changes from Last Year

December 16, 2010.  Thursday.

Situation:  I have to work today, at the job I usually do at night.  Moi has already taken Mway outside, but just out to the back yard.  I heard Mway barking, then saw her coming into the door behind Moi, carrying her stick into the house, which of course I don’t like her to do.  Right now she’s lying on the floor next to me in the office.  I suppose she is hoping I take her for a walk.

State of the Path:  Sure as soon as I get up, Mway gets up too, eyes me as I go to my room to put on walking clothes, follows me downstairs, and stands waiting at the door.  I had reread my first entry of this journal, since I want to see today what changes there are in the path and the creek since this time last year.  The first change is that the side path along the old orchard, partly because of the extremely dry weather this summer, has remained open all year, so Mway doesn’t have to step gingerly over a whole area of briars and goldenrod.  Because we haven’t yet had a big snow, the goldenrod, except for areas here and there, is still sticking up.  Also, I now have a pair of good boots, so I don’t have to be fussy about where I’m stepping, although today the water in the path is all iced up.

State of the Creek:  The log jam that used to be there is now gone, the smaller branches dispersed and the big log now resting a few feet from where it was against another big log on the opposite creek bank.  A honeysuckle has been chopped down, and more of the creek bank has given way, where Moi has stomped on it.  The plastic barrel the Boy has taken out of the water and thrown beside the path, and the piece of vinyl siding, once in the middle of the stream, has been washed downstream and is partially hidden underground.  And over the feed channel, there is now a plank, so I don’t have to stumble over the ditch to get to the crest of the skating pond.  The sumac tree that I mention as fallen over into the path is still where it was, but over the year I’ve simply made a path around it.

The Fetch:  As I walk along the ridge, I’m amazed to see all the puddles of ice around Moi’s pines.  On the other side of the ridge, the path is also iced up.  I step around the ice onto the thatches of tan grass surrounding it, pass the Russian olive that juts into the path.  When I come into the strawberry field, I see Mway sprinting up the path through the goldenrod into the clearing.  When I reach the clearing myself, she stops snooping at weeds and runs over to me, smiling and dancing in place.  On the first throw, I accidentally pitch the stick close to the evergreen Moi planted (another change), but fortunately Mway pulls it out of the weeds without wrecking the evergreen.  We make the circle, Mway dashing to the perimeter and back, barking and spinning at my feet.  As she runs, I notice her tail twitching, and I wonder if that’s because she moves her tail muscles or if that’s just an effect of her leg muscles moving.  A few fetches into the second round, she goes galloping past me with the stick in her mouth.  I yell “good enough.”  But she circles around me, and I find myself corralled by her circling.  “Oh, okay, put it down,” I say.  She fetches the stick a few more times.  We walk back through the sumacs, Mway passing me on the path as soon as it widens enough for her to do so, the stick in her mouth knocking against briar stems. The fresh air arouses in my head some words I’m thinking about putting into the introduction of my blog, words like “the underlying point is that the relation, the interplay of forces, between Nature and Art, object and subject, is more subtle and complicated than a mere dichotomy.”

Snow Squalls

December 15, 2010.  Wednesday.

Situation:  I have rush work to do today, and I also have to work tonight.  I just heard Moi going outside with Mway, and Mway barking, for a short time anyway – I’m not going to be able to take her for a walk this morning.  Maybe I can squeeze in a quick walk this afternoon.  I get home about 2:30 and just have time to take Mway for a walk before I have to leave around 4.  Mway greets me in the driveway, and as I rush through the cold, follows me to the door.  Moi is at her laptop, and after she tells me how this morning she barely avoided driving into a snow squall and how one of her students then called to cancel her lesson because she was in a car accident in that very same snow squall, I ask her, as Mway is pacing around the table, “So what’s up with her?  Does she need a walk?”  Moi tells me the Boy, who’s home for a few days, just took her out.  “Good,” I say, “Then I don’t need to do it.”  While I’m rolling cigarettes for tonight, the Boy comes in the door and tells me, “I took Mwayla out, but not for very long.”  “Well,” I say, “I’m not going to take her out.”  Long ago I decided I was only going to keep up this journal for a year, and the time for finishing it up is drawing near – 9 days to go.

Frosty Snow and a Cold Wind

December 14, 2010.  Tuesday.

Situation:   When I go down into the kitchen this morning, it looks like Moi’s again at work on her hunting stories.  The blinds on the kitchen windows aren’t opened; there are dirty dishes in the sink; half the coffee in the carafe is gone.  Woody hops on the table, coaxing Moi to throw his little mousy.  Mway follows me around the kitchen, looking up at me whenever I turn around.  I have to work, both today and tonight.  Outside my office window, I see patches of snow on the ground.  I’m not looking forward to going out in the cold.

State of the Path:  A few steps outside, and the cold is already burning my nostrils, drying my mouth.  I hear the wind – I’m inclined to say “howling,” but that doesn’t seem to be the right word.  I unlatch the chickens’ cage, as Moi told me to do – she didn’t even get around to doing this this morning.  The snow on the ground, encrusted in the hard soil, seems more like frost than snow.  The metal barrel near the walled garden is topped with white, as I see, later, that the plastic barrel down by the creek is as well.  I move swiftly down the main path, keeping my neck and head stiff, braced against the cold.  I hear my walking stick thump against the ground, and it startles me by sinking a couple times into mud around the wigwams.  Mway moves around in jittery movements, sniffing the ground – she doesn’t seem to have any complaint, though, about the cold.

State of the Creek:  I immediately see white ice along the banks of the creek, and as I walk along I find that most of the pools are frozen over, with a frothy but firm layer of ice, thin enough, though, to poke my stick through.  I keep moving fast.  My entire hands are cold.

The Fetch:  Up at the clearing, I start going around the circle – with each toss I hope Mway will feel lazy today and come back without dropping the stick, ready to go back to the house.  Sometimes she snatches up the stick with great ease – if the stick has landed in front of the weeds.  Other times she has to extricate the stick from the clutch of flattened goldenrod or the low branches of a “chokeberry,” stabbing at it with her snout before she can grab it and pull it away.   She follows the various tosses around the perimeter of the clearing, going a few fetches into a third round, and finally – I’m not paying close enough attention to know what circumstance sways her – she brings the stick back, chomping on it.  Although I’m cold, I indulge her a bit and command her to “put it down.”  Twice we play “put it down,” then I tell her “that’s enough.”  As I head down the path through the sumacs, I suddenly come up with the word to describe the sound of the wind: “moaning” -- the wind is moaning.  Yet as I write it, that doesn’t seem like the right word either.

Dead Tree between Posts of Electric Pole

December 13, 2010.  Monday.

Situation:  This morning I had to go to the dentist early to get my filling refilled, so I couldn’t take Mway for a walk in the morning.  Downstairs Moi was on her laptop, spending all morning, I believe, writing more deer hunting stories – it looked like she hadn’t taken Mway for a walk either.  When I got home, I checked my email – no work had come in today.  Mway was pacing around, following me from room to room, staring at me, and I considered taking her for a walk then – but before I could do so she and Moi went upstairs to take a nap.  Right now, it’s 2:59, and I’m waiting for them to get up.  Whenever they do, I’ll take Mway for her walk.

State of the Path:   Out my office window, I see a large cat striding down the lane behind the summer house; perhaps it’s what made the prints in the snow the other day.  I suit up, gather a couple sticks from the music room, one of which I bring along.  Moi has put weather stripping along the back door, and now you have to slam it shut several times before it stays closed.  A cold wind blows against my cheeks and nose.  The snow is gone, but Moi’s garden pond is still frozen.  At the side path, I turn to go on it; Mway, just ahead on the main path, looks behind her, and I mumble “we’re going this way today, Mway.”  Near the hedgerow my wrists start getting cold and my arms start freezing – it was not this cold this morning.  As I past the cedar tree I realize I’m not paying much attention to what’s around me; instead I’m thinking about my plans to post this journal online as a blog, and in my mind I’m pouring over words for an introduction to it.  My plans are to make the last journal entry on the day before Christmas, and then on Christmas day to post the first entry from exactly a year earlier.  The words going through my mind are mainly repetitions of words I’ve already written, although new words slip in now and then.   When I realize I’m not paying attention to what’s around me, I try to start looking around.  I look at some ice on the path down by the wigwams and at an old brown stalk of ironweed, but it’s hard for me to break through the swirl of language in my head.

State of the Creek:  At the tree stand, I look up into Hutchinson’s wood lot, through the two posts of a high tension electric pole, at a dead tree broken in the middle of the trunk with its top half leaning over, all of which is framed neatly, from where I stand, between the two posts.  I’ve been catching a glance of this dead tree, perhaps the most distinctive sight here, on most of my walks lately, but this is the first time I think about mentioning it.  It seems dark around the creek, and despite how cold it is, there’s no ice in the stream.  I spot some gill-of-the-ground, which has bounced back after being covered with snow and doesn’t seem to mind the cold.  I walk quickly, just looking to see if I come across any ice.  There’s none in the puddles in the grasses of bug land, and none in the water trickling down the swale.  Just by looking at it, I can’t tell if the water in the feed channel is frozen or not; but when I poke it with my walking stick, the stick makes a thud.  There’s ice in the puddles on the path along the ridge, which cracks as I walk across it, but there’s no ice in the soggy path on the other side of the ridge.

The Fetch:  As I walk up toward the clearing, cold spittle is forming around my lips and snot building up in my nose.  As soon as I toss the stick, I realize this is a way of keeping warm, and I try to bring my whole body into motion as I toss it, instead of just lackadaisically pitching it underhand.  I wind up for each toss, bringing the stick behind my back, and follow through on the pitch, even though I’m not trying to throw the stick as far as I can.  I go around the circle, flinging the stick into the corners of the roughly rectangular clearing, Mway dashing off in pursuit, snatching up the stick from whatever straggle of weeds in which it landed.   When she brings the stick back, she drops it at my feet, barks and spins once or twice.  If I hold the stick behind me, she stands still, ears erect, tongue draped over her teeth.  If she has to wait too long for me to throw it, she starts barking again.  She goes as far as two pitches into the second round before she brings the stick back and keeps it held in her mouth, gobbling on it.  I tell her to “put it down.”  She drops it, then makes a few more fetches, but when she starts chomping on the stick without dropping it again, I feel the snot gathering heavy in my nostrils and tell her “that’s enough.”

And God Blessed the Seventh Day

December 12, 2010.  Sunday.

Situation:  Yesterday afternoon, about 2, while I’m working in the music room, Moi came back from her day of hunting (we both had to work last night).  She doesn’t say anything when she walks into the kitchen, and I know this means that she hasn’t gotten anything.  I stop my work and go into the kitchen to make a late morning stir fry, and to listen to what she has to say, because I know after she pours herself a glass of wine, she’ll have a lot to say.  “I had a shot at a doe today,” she says, “but I just couldn’t bring myself to kill it.  If I’d been seeing more doe this year, I could have done it.  But I don’t know, I guess I was just thinking conservation.  I’m a BFF – big fuckin’ failure,” and she flops her arms in an apologetic manner.  “Are you mad at me because I wasted all this time, and didn’t come home with anything?”  I’m busy trying to get my food together and have trouble paying attention to her.  “No.  I’m not mad at you,” I say.  “I went out there today,” she continues, “with the resolve to come back with something, to shoot a doe if I had too.  It has to be the right situation for me to shoot a doe.  If I see one with fawns, I won’t shoot it.  When I’ve shot doe in the past years, it’s always been a bad thing.  One time I shot one and when I went up to it its mammary glands were spilling milk all over the place.  But I was resolved, if the right situation came, to shoot one.  The right situation came today, and I had a good shot at a doe, but I still didn’t take it.”  She’s saying a lot more, but like I said, I’m trying to fix my brunch.  I tell her about seeing cat prints on the plank yesterday, and ask her if they could’ve been from Squeak. “No, Squeak was up in my bed all last night,” she says.  “A BFF,” she goes on, “that’s what I am.  No meat for the freezer this year, I guess we’ll have to eat chicken all year.”  I tease her that perhaps she hasn’t been getting enough testosterone as part of her hormone therapy.  “No,” she replies, “it actually has more to do with estrogen,” and she says something I don’t catch about taking estrogen.  “There’s usually only a short window when I’m willing to shoot something.  If the right situation doesn’t come along then, then that’s it.  You know, I’m only telling you this, but this year I prayed to Matt’s mom that if the situation was such that only one of us could get a deer this year, then let it be him.  When Matt got one on the first day this year, I thought, well there you go – he’s the one who got a deer.  I was so happy he got one.  All these years, since I started hunting, I’ve gotten a deer, and Matt’s been having trouble.  And I want him to feel like he’s a good provider for Jazz and all that.  This morning,” and I scrape my food out of the frying pan onto a plate, “since this was the last day, I prayed to Blue to bring me the right situation – he, you know, always liked it when he had scraps of meat and fat to eat from deer hides – and, what do you know, the right situation came along.  About 11:30 this morning I saw about ten doe passing along the ridge, but I didn’t even bother picking up my gun.  The right situation came along, and I just let it pass.”  I move into the living room, and Moi starts telling me how in getting up into the tree stand that morning her gun barrel got filled with snow and how the red light on her viewer was not working because the battery was low, and a bunch of other things that I can’t quite all take in.  She asks me again, “Tell me the truth, are you mad I didn’t get a deer?”  I tell her that it would’ve been nice if she had gotten one, but if she didn’t, that was alright.  “You know,” she says, “I think I just like being out in the woods.  You see a lot.  You know – in your walks with Mway, some time you should bring a lawn chair with you.  You’d be surprised what you see when you sit outside for a while, what comes along.  Or maybe some time take a walk without Mway.”  Like most Sundays, work all day.  Come back, it’s dark.  No walk for Mway from me today.