Range of Light

Toward the end of yesterday's bike ride I first noticed a change in afternoon light. Shadows lay differently on the pavement beneath my wheels, and in this summer that persists beyond its appointed months, I welcomed the change. The ride itself became somewhat interesting when I stopped after the first 20 minutes to telephone a woman with whom I have been trying to connect for a couple of days. Nothing like dripping sweat onto a notebook I had carried with me as I tried to take notes of bits of conversation I will have to remember.

Our connection was weak--she was in her car in Southern California, hundreds of miles away from me and my bike--but we managed to accomplish our purpose. She is one of a few people who might be instrumental in my own change of light, to use a poor metaphor. Late next week, after a couple of discussions and after weighing certain risks against potential rewards, some aspects of my life might be different. Most people who are old like me don't seem to make these types of changes, perhaps because we are fatter and slower and more comfortable than we remember ourselves being. We'll see.

Random Memories This Way Come

Fuel and fodder for the insomniac.

We're standing on the aircraft carrier's port catwalk, the ship sliding through warm still water somewhere in the vicinity of Guam. In the distance we see what looks to be a wave moving toward us in an angle that we gather will intersect the ship's bow. When the wave gets closer we realize that it is not water but something living--porpoises. There are 20 or so. They match the ship's speed and accompany us for awhile, then when they have satisfied their curiosity or quest for fun they slow down, change their angle, and are gone.

On the first day of a 5-day backpacking trip with 2 companions I step through a creek and let my leather Vasque Sundowner boots get soaked, and rather than stop to change socks, I keep hiking. By the end of the day my heels are marked by raw circles the size of Washington-head quarters, circles that ooze viscous liquid onto my wool socks. I have to pull strands of fabric free. Every painful step for the next 5 days makes those circles grow. The trip is one of too many miles each day, too many ascents and descents, and our water filter fails on the third day, forcing us to drink water when and were we find it during the day. Asprin does nothing to stop the pain in my feet, and I barely sleep because of it. The final day, 12 miles' worth of hiking, the 3 of us not only barely speak, we barely see each other. When we meet again where the car is parked, I show them my heels. "Wow," one of them says, "I didn't think they were that bad." When I finally get home I tell my wife I will never backpack again. I return twice more to that area in future years.

My cousin and I once stole silver dollars from a jar in my grandfather's house, and we used them to buy baseball cards and bubble gum. We haven't seen each other much in the ensuing years, but we both feel guilty about our crime. This is the same grandfather who enjoyed drinking bourbon, who, I have heard in other ensuing years, found it necessary to alienate his 3 children, one of whom was my father, and his wife. He probably beat the crap out of anyone he could, but I'm not sure about that. My grandfather visited our house every other Sunday when I was a kid in Illinois, before he died one January night, and he would bring doughnuts. He showed up in his yellow Chevrolet one winter Sunday and I ran outside with only socks on my feet to greet him, and he said "I should kick your butt" for not having shoes on. His wife, my grandmother, died in my cousin's house many years before we stole those coins.

For several years I have tried with little luck to attract hummingbirds to my backyard. First I put up a hummingbird feeder, but I tended to forget to keep it full of liquid. This last summer I have kept it full, and I have hung flower pots nearby as an additional attraction. My son noticed that, though we seldom see hummingbirds, the ones we do have seem to like the purple flowers in the pots.... The trail where I usually ride my bike is where squirrels like to hang out, and they seem to enjoy dodging my bike's tires. Lately, their mouths are full of what must be nuts--probably getting ready for autumn and winter. In my back yard the other morning, a dozen or so sparrows hopped about in the loose dirt, pecking with their beaks and flapping their wings in the dust. Is that flapping meant to disturb the dirt, to unearth something edible? Two robins joined them at one point, and though I did not have hummingbirds, I had other birds.... Are the birds, like the squirrels, getting ready for the end of summer? People should know these things.