I Keep Meaning to Post

Really, I do. There are a dozen things I could, need to write about, even, but it just doesn't seem to be coming. I could write about the rain today, or what Little Caesar's smells like wafting across the lawn at 9:00 in the morning, or about the guy I met who has a parrot named Bebe Rebozo. I could write about the combination vegan/Polish Easter dinner I attended in April. I could write about the family in front of me in line at Meijer stuffing their faces with pretzels they hadn't yet paid for in such a way that they left no room for doubt that humans are descended from apes. I have blog post titles already! Qooking with Quorn! Ann Arbor Crows!

So why isn't it happening?

Hawk in the Rain: Now SBC-Free!

At last, I am back online at home. SBC/AT&T/Ma Bell/Whoever-They-Are-Now successfully lost me as a customer when they DENIED me service after Wayne, their customer service rep who handled transfer of my accounts to the new location, told me everything was going to be just hunky dory. Oh, their engineers tried digging up the wires and connecting me through another router, but blind moles move faster and the folks in billing, who had no idea what engineering was up to, were snotty about my not paying the bill for service they denied me. I wasn't snotty to them. I paid the rest of the bill without a peep of protest, just not the part for the DSL THAT WASN'T ON FOR TWO WEEKS.

*ahem*

Anyway, I am happily connected now, relieved to have real-time weather radar on demand and downloading Keane songs.

Officially an Ann Arborite

The days since my last post have been blurry. There was quite a bit of sweating and grunting over a period of three days whilst wrestling furniture down the stairs of a 100-year-old Victorian house. The matress and box springs came out the window a la Monty Python's Holy Grail. The first night in the new place I had no bed and no hot water. I made several vaguely remembered sad and lonely late-night phone calls. The following day, still hot and sticky and feeling extra-bummed about leaving Chelsea, I sat down on the only box-free surface - the toilet - and wept like a five-year-old.

But I still managed to get a date that week! After beers at Arbor Brewing, we went over to Top of the Park for the free movie, which turned out to be Monty Python's Holy Grail.

Most of my time has been spent at the apartment, making it look more like home. In my first week I have already run over and completely crushed the downspouting in the back yard with my car and put more nail holes in the walls than the landlord probably anticipated. The front of the apartment is a Gobi desert of hardened earth, with street-tough thistles clawing their way through. Pots of coneflowers and daisies await transplantation. They seem happier than they did in Chelsea, having come into full bloom in the last three days.

On my first perambulation around the neighborhood, I poked into Eberwhite Woods for a minute, and found a downy woodpecker feather. Otherwise, the inventory of wildlife around the new place is something like this: house sparrow, house sparrow, house sparrow, house sparrow, starling, starling, starling, sub-adult robin, cardinal, cardinal, house sparrow, house sparrow, juvenile Homo sapiens, house sparrow, little bunny rabbit, starling, starling, house sparrow, house sparrow, house sparrow, house sparrow.

And spiders. I have many spider friends in my new place. And earwigs who want to live in my magazines and I'm afraid I'm going to have evict them.

The cat was a little jumpy for a day or two, but she's doing well. The anti-histamines prescribed for her allergic skin have not been working, probably because they aren't particularly effective when Itchykitty Skinnybutt spits them out under the refrigerator.

And yay! for the post office. Law School P's key found its way to me. He asked what he could do for me for taking care of his cats. I told him to bring me a shrubbery.

Last Post from Chelsea

Here it is, hawklets, my last night in Chelsea. I am sitting beside the astonishing number of boxes it took to pack up the desk. Sylvie watched the operation with whisker-quivering curiosity and couldn't wait to explore the terra nova of the empty shelf.



I believe the move will be positive. Still, it's hard to embrace a change like this when the kosmos thrusts it upon you, rather than letting you think you made a decision and that you have some control.

Jim Morrison is growling "The future's uncertain and the end is always near," somewhere in the vicinity of my right ear. I wish he'd stop.

This morning I walked up to the farmer's market and heard the train whistle blow. I almost cried. I hope the train whistle doesn't blow while I'm turning in the keys to house's new owner. I really don't want to almost cry in front of her.

I am thankful that my new swingin' pad is near enough that I can move stuff carload by carload over a few days. Gives me some time to get used to the idea. Looking at my tv and stereo and yarn in the new place, I felt a little bit at home there already this afternoon. And I'm reading up on how to care for hardwood floors, 'cuz my new ones are filthy. I Swiffered them, but walking in bare feet still turned my soles sooty.

I have dishes to pack yet tonight, so I'll be ready to roll when B & D get here tomorrow with the truck.

Let it roll, baby, roll.

Glow

Last Wednesday night I shut down the computer, set the alarm, and tumbled into bed. A minute later, Sylvie jumped up and I opened my eyes as she nuzzled my nose in the dark, then settled down by my elbow.

Something above the curtains winked greenly. Car headlights sweep the ceiling, and the buttons on the DSL box glows all night, so I thought nothing of a small light in the room.

Until the cat made a slashing leap across my body. My eyes popped open to see the green glow six inches away from my face. *flash*flash*flash* It floated soundlessly towards the wall. *flash*flash*flash* I had a lightning bug in my bedroom.

First I tried to ignore it. I wanted to sleep, but evidently Sylvie determined to catch this blinking light, so much like a fun laser pointer game. She was going to walk all over me all night.

I shuffled out to the kitchen in search of a jar to catch the beetle in. I came up with an empty cat food can and a folded paper towel. Luckily the lightning bug was very close to the wall. Without turning the lights on, I centered the can over the ethereal glow and brushed the insect in.

I covered the can with the paper towel. *flash*flash*flash* filtered through the towel, reminding me of childhood games played with a flashlight. Humid air left over after the evening’s storms rolled into the living room as I lifted the screen and shook the bug into the thick night. *flash* then he was gone from view.

After a moment’s hesitation, I followed him. I flip-flopped out to the backyard where myriads of his kind pulsed over the knee-high weeds, dipped toward the short grass, drifted slowly heavenward. They semaphored their desire with the dust of long-imploded stars, unknowingly signaling to the same dust in me.