We broke the ice in the birdbaths and filled them with fresh water. The first drink was taken by a squirrel. Then a pair of juncos descended from the bare birches. They hopped around the rim, stopping for very quick small sips — stopping without stopping, you might say. More sun, more cold, not a drop of rain. The dry air inside makes the sinuses ache. My blood pressure was taken at the dentist’s office: 124 over 76. I always forget which number is the diabolic and which the vitriolic. The assistant said, “Wow — we don’t see that very often,” and I replied, “I’m in a highly agitated state.” There were two plants on the window sill. One was a cactus so small it almost wasn’t there, yet it looked healthy enough. The other was also small, a grassy thing growing out of the head of a cheerful looking creature of some kind, making it look like the creature’s hair. I say creature because I don’t remember what it was. But I knew at the time. I was fascinated by the changing light in the neighborhood beyond. The window faces west. By the time I left, there was a soft rosy glow. Or it might have been orange and blue. I knew that too, but am less sure now. What I know now is that I don’t know. This too is knowledge of a sort, hardly coveted, but knowledge nonetheless. A good word to invent would be nonethemore. On his journey, he visited the tenth century cathedral of Nonethmore, now mostly in ruins. He, too, was ruined — financially, mentally, every which way, and this is why he was so happy. Having nothing at all to hang on to had turned out to be a good thing. People wondered, of course, where he got the money for traveling. They wondered because, basically, that’s the only kind of thing they were used to thinking about. There goes someone. I wonder how much money he has. Where does he get it? And then in a roundabout way they ask him if he’s retired. When he says he doesn’t know, that he doesn’t think so, they assume he’s crazy, or maybe just weird. Ha-ha, they say. The dentist asked me if I used to be an English teacher. I said no, I’m just a word-and-book person. He found my answer quite satisfactory.
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Categories: The Art of Being
Tags: Birches, Birdbaths, Books, English, Ice, Identity, Juncos, Memory, Money, Squirrels, Water, Windows, Words, Writing