Back in the Saddle

My trusty Macintosh has been on vacation. For the past couple of days it was being pampered at Lockardugan Estates, where the esteemed Dr. Dugan gave it a makeover. Now it runs, sleek as a Panther, much better than before. Sadly, some plastic surgery is still in order. The CD drive seems no longer up to the task of spinning the tunes, or much of anything else. Soon I'll be scouring the listings on eBay to find a suitable provider for our cause.

All that is to say that, thanks to Bill and his lovely fiancee, Jen, and their graciousness and hospitality (the guacamole was great--and I don't even like guacamole!), I am once again in possession of a viable means of working, playing, and surfing. You guys rock. So while I am typing, the iPod is in the cradle, the Pismo is connected to the stereo, and my tapping digits are dancing to the tunes of the Waterboys. Ain't technology grand?

In our last post, my daughter and I visited the health club. I guess four days is long enough for one's muscles to rest, so we'll probably go back this evening. Meanwhile, I rashly promised my boss I'd deliver a new Style Guide by next Wednesday. He raised one eyebrow, one corner of his mouth curled up, he squinted a bit and wrote it on the calendar. Next Wednesday I'll either be a hero or as screwed as a plank on a well-built deck.

I also need to thank the folks at Lockardugan for a gift they didn't even realize they gave me. Wednesday was a frantic day at work. I like days like that because they go quickly, but by the end of the day I had knots where my muscles used to be and two hot rocks in the space formerly occupied by my eyes. I dropped Katie off at youth group and headed up to visit Bill.

Unfortunately--and ultimately, fortunately--nobody was home. I parked in front of the house, turned off the engine and radio, and just sat. I watched the life of the neighborhood. A girl came to the house across the street and picked up a bicycle from a friend. She was in no hurry. It took them nearly 30 minutes to get it attached to her car and finish chatting before she drove away. I looked at the church across the street. Lights were on in a windowed section of the steeple. I noticed the pretty brickwork and the little architectural flourishes in mouldings. It's a lovely building. I looked at the last few blooms on the tree in Jen and Bill's front yard. And I lit my pipe.

Sitting in the passenger side of the truck, I watched another neighbor come by walking her dog. She went past the Judge's house and turned onto the next street. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, she and her dog came back by. I smiled as she neared and she returned it, transforming her face from a pleasant visage to a beautiful beacon of humanity. Sometimes a thing so simple is enough to justify any sort of day. After that smile from a stranger, it was undeniably a fine day. All the while, a continous breeze brushed across my cheek. Traffic passed with a swish, a whoosh, or a roar. Cyclists coasted in a soft, clicking roll. And the lights by the front door flared into life. I went to ring the doorbell, thinking somebody might have been in a far corner of the house and not realize I was there. Part of me was almost afraid somebody would answer. I was enjoying the relative solitude.

During my entire visit, I didn't need to provide anything to anybody. I didn't need to speak. I simply sat, content to be. The hot stones became eyes again. The knots slowly loosened until I began to feel relaxed. After I tamped down and relit the last bit of tobacco in my pipe, I got back into the driver's seat, started the engine, and turned for home. It didn't matter that Jen and Bill were not home. There is enough of them in their home that it is still a wonderfully relaxing, embracing place to be when they aren't home. The time I spent there was a welcome tonic to a tough day. I can't thank them enough for that, even though they didn't realize the gift they'd provided.