Clearing the air of smoke
Asked last week to bill: "Do you need my help with any of the events this upcoming weekend?"
"No."
Today I get a call from Bill. He wants me to weedwack.
"Sorry, I'm still letting my back recover. I really screwed it up. It's a lot better now but I want to pamper it."
"It pays 20 an hour."
"Sorry."
I enter the yoga studio and immediately smell smoke. The fireplace is spewing smoke instead of sucking it up the chimney because the remnants had spilled too far forward. Five minutes after opening the windows, doors and turning on the fans, the studio air quality becomes suitable for my deep breathing exercises. Soon enough, I am flowing through the exercises - moving the CNS switch from parasympathetic (fear based) to sympathetic (heart-centered).
I shower and make my way up the hill to the basement where my clothes share space with a couple hundred cases of wine. The shelves hold some of my belongings that I end up organizing for the next 20 minutes.
After walking up the steps, I see bill speaking with a woman. He looks at me briefly, rolls his eyes, hand signals for me to wait and continues to talk. The discussion concludes and we begin to walk together up the driveway. Bill's going off, he's manic, feels abandoned by every one and asks me for some help. Basically he’s overwhelmed because 2 different events have overlapped. The Young Presidents stay was not “coordinated” properly. The land conservancy group arrived while the young pres folks were eating lunch. The kitchen was in chaos and Bill needed like 5 fires set, compost dumped in the garden, lights turned on. Setting fires is one of my specialties so this was right up my alley.
After an hour and fifteen minutes, the tasks placed at my feet are complete. I exit the estate in the beat up cream Toyota loaner; destination is Farmer and the Cook. After my salad, it’s back in the truck. The red “check engine” light on the dashboard comes on. The truck, which always sounds a bit wonky, is emitting sounds of engine distress and as I travel further down El Roblar Street it begins to smell as well.
I decide to head back up to the estate and pray the Skip mobile can limp up the 500 or so vertical feet. The vehicle makes it. While walking to my motorcycle, one of the land conservancy volunteers who is directing the parking, tell me that it smells like the catalytic converter has clogged. In fact, he’s certain of it. So now I’ve got my diagnosis to relay to Skip.
I stop by Sunny’s to check on the dogs and puppies. Trixie greets me right away. Wow, I really love this dog. There’s a bunch of peops waiting to get their hair cut. No bald jokes today. While talking I mention: “If you diagnosed the typical American corporation according to the DSM manual, which psychiatrists use, you’d discover that they [corporations] almost all meet the criteria for being labeled as sociopaths. And that is what our government is: a conglomeration of sociopathic corporations.”
Sunny looks at me quickly, her eyes are strained and I can see that my declaration has annoyed her. She’s never liked my political discourse and has always discouraged any expression by saying: “That’s propaganda.” And then she’d slag me off – have a go at me. But that was a few years ago. She seems to have changed, matured. This is so nice to see.
This all flashes in that split second of eye contact and is enough because she simply changes the subject without missing a beat or a cut in the head of strawberry blonde hair beneath her face.
"No."
Today I get a call from Bill. He wants me to weedwack.
"Sorry, I'm still letting my back recover. I really screwed it up. It's a lot better now but I want to pamper it."
"It pays 20 an hour."
"Sorry."
I enter the yoga studio and immediately smell smoke. The fireplace is spewing smoke instead of sucking it up the chimney because the remnants had spilled too far forward. Five minutes after opening the windows, doors and turning on the fans, the studio air quality becomes suitable for my deep breathing exercises. Soon enough, I am flowing through the exercises - moving the CNS switch from parasympathetic (fear based) to sympathetic (heart-centered).
I shower and make my way up the hill to the basement where my clothes share space with a couple hundred cases of wine. The shelves hold some of my belongings that I end up organizing for the next 20 minutes.
After walking up the steps, I see bill speaking with a woman. He looks at me briefly, rolls his eyes, hand signals for me to wait and continues to talk. The discussion concludes and we begin to walk together up the driveway. Bill's going off, he's manic, feels abandoned by every one and asks me for some help. Basically he’s overwhelmed because 2 different events have overlapped. The Young Presidents stay was not “coordinated” properly. The land conservancy group arrived while the young pres folks were eating lunch. The kitchen was in chaos and Bill needed like 5 fires set, compost dumped in the garden, lights turned on. Setting fires is one of my specialties so this was right up my alley.
After an hour and fifteen minutes, the tasks placed at my feet are complete. I exit the estate in the beat up cream Toyota loaner; destination is Farmer and the Cook. After my salad, it’s back in the truck. The red “check engine” light on the dashboard comes on. The truck, which always sounds a bit wonky, is emitting sounds of engine distress and as I travel further down El Roblar Street it begins to smell as well.
I decide to head back up to the estate and pray the Skip mobile can limp up the 500 or so vertical feet. The vehicle makes it. While walking to my motorcycle, one of the land conservancy volunteers who is directing the parking, tell me that it smells like the catalytic converter has clogged. In fact, he’s certain of it. So now I’ve got my diagnosis to relay to Skip.
I stop by Sunny’s to check on the dogs and puppies. Trixie greets me right away. Wow, I really love this dog. There’s a bunch of peops waiting to get their hair cut. No bald jokes today. While talking I mention: “If you diagnosed the typical American corporation according to the DSM manual, which psychiatrists use, you’d discover that they [corporations] almost all meet the criteria for being labeled as sociopaths. And that is what our government is: a conglomeration of sociopathic corporations.”
Sunny looks at me quickly, her eyes are strained and I can see that my declaration has annoyed her. She’s never liked my political discourse and has always discouraged any expression by saying: “That’s propaganda.” And then she’d slag me off – have a go at me. But that was a few years ago. She seems to have changed, matured. This is so nice to see.
This all flashes in that split second of eye contact and is enough because she simply changes the subject without missing a beat or a cut in the head of strawberry blonde hair beneath her face.
posted by Dij at 9:57 PM
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