THE
THREE-FOOT SNOWCONE
Here in the northlands, far from the conveniences of modern
utilities like city sewer, most of us have the dreaded septic systems. We have
learned over the years that if you don’t take care of your septic systems, then
you just might be joining the critters outside, while taking care of your
business. This year for the first time my septic froze up and it’s no fun to be
singing Danny Boy in the shower, in that rich Irish tenor voice so many have
grown to love, and then the next minute to be ankle deep in some putrid
smelling gruel that is bubbling up the drain. I soaked my feet in helix for
forty-five minutes trying to kill that flesh-eating germ, I know for a fact
lives in that cement container in the back yard. If you think you stink up the
bathroom once in a while, just taking care of daily business, you ought to
smell it after it has spent the summer stewing in that box in the back yard and
now is being forced back into your house, up the shower drain. Enough about
poop.
The other day I made a corn beef brisket with all the
trimmings and it was delicious. I ended up with about eight inches of soupy,
greasy, left over broth and knowing that isn’t good for my septic; I took it
outside and poured it into a snow bank. Enter my dog Molly. She proceeded to
eat the entire snow bank right down to the gravel. How did this affect her? I’m
not sure because she likes to go to the woods with her B.M.’s and I prefer to
respect her privacy, so I have no idea what took place back there. Let’s just
say I prefer not to know. All I know is Molly loved her three-foot high corned
beef snow cone and I got rid of another snow bank. Enough about Molly.
Next time I leave town for a while I have to remember to
tell my neighbors. Someone had cut a rather large hole in the ice in front of
my place, for fishing purposes and when my neighbors saw it and noticed my
absence, they thought I had fallen in. You know how rumors get started.
Returning home I found several burnt out candles and some beer cans around the
spot on the ice and when I asked about the mess they told me they had a
memorial service for me and they were sorry but some dog had run off with the
wreath. They were glad to see me back.
Switching gears here-- thank heavens. Something happens in
spring, that is a metamorphous of sorts and it is happening right now as I
write. The sun turns up the heat and the snow and ice recede. Down by the
garden the rhubarb sends out some pink shoots to tentatively test the air. The
trees seem to be sighing with relief, after a long winter of being cold and
naked and now they are leaking sap and sprouting buds. The lake has turned an
angry gray color as the menacing ice cover gives up and turns back to its
watery state. “Oh look there’s a robin building a nest and a wood duck swimming
in a pond, waiting patiently for the mating ritual to began.” My emotions
however are running hot and cold right now because as much as I yearn for
summer, I know the calendar of my life has flipped over another page of my existence
and each year the yet to be seen pages get skinnier and the ones that have been
fulfilled get fatter. I think there is a reason why most old people enjoy
spring over autumn and it all lies in that subliminal message.
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