Moving Day

This morning I saw a hairy spider crawling on the edge of the counter in the bathroom. It was in no hurry. I found the small plastic jar we keep for such situations, guided him into it, covered the top, then released our surprised friend outside, where he trundled off through some dry moss.

I try not to sit very often or for very long. I feel better when I am moving. I know from my own experience that too much sitting is not good for me. In 2001, I wrote two novels. That required a lot of sitting. I am glad I am not writing a novel now. But I do wonder what it is that I am writing. Whatever it is, it accumulates like rain. There are puddles everywhere. Water dripping from the rocks. It helps the ferns grow.

By eight o’clock, I had watered the garden, the dahlias, and the front flower bed. I had watered the mint, the planters, the barrels, and the pots. I had rolled the big full recycling bin from behind the house to the front, where I topped it off with a pile of partly dried vine and apricot growth. Then I set the hose dripping under the vine, which will convert the water into bigger brighter berries and clear sweet grape juice.

Today is moving day for several large homeless camps in the area. The highway department has allowed them to stay until now. The tents are coming down, revealing plywood, pallets, and enormous piles of debris. And of course one wonders where everyone will go. A few to shelters and services, many back to their familiar haunts by the river.

One has to wonder about a society that is willing to live with homelessness and mass shootings of school children. One has to wonder about a society when millions of its members are angry about something as simple as wearing a mask, and when they are angry, too, about almost everything else.

As with sitting, I know from experience that anger is not good for me. Is it good for you? Is it good for anyone you know?

Enough. Time to stand up. Time to move around.

July 19, 2021

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