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i had no interest in seeing The R1ng. not after seeing the original on the 1FC some months ago... before it got changed to R1ngu. so, i don't specifically use this to illustrate my point. but, there has been all of this emphasis on spirals on the weather map, for weeks, and watching this curious focus on a spiraling cemetery map in 1 Bury The L1v1ng as the eye of the hurricane passed over us, last Thursday... it's had my interest piqued. running in circles... narrowing spirals. tethered to a short leash. a troublesome theme for the past few days. at least, not lethal. but troublesome. beginning with last Thursday... the air pregnant with unbridled unpleasantness promised. thick. laden. brooding. threatening. life... and limb. i stopped at the house my grandfather built (and sacrificed a few of his fingers to) and my grandmother ended her days, where my mother now lives. her usual black mood, fed by a trip to the doctor's... and a scheduled CT scan for a questionable x-ray. not sounding at all good. checking to make sure that everything was buttoned down outside, before the big wind arose, i asked about her home insurance before i left... which was allowed to lapse. also, not good. then... i burrowed. behind the walls and before the dvd, on an unusually chilly day for tropical attack. bunkered against what might come. flickers. brief plunges into darkness. antsy animals. the extent of the apprehension, until a phone call before midnight. moms... strangely calm, alluding that something fell and hit the house. though it could wait until morning until i took a look. but i should bring my camera. and then i found out why. four trees, interlaced across the roof, bearing down on the porch roof. on top of her car. like all hell broke loose. like the house was being swiftly, imperceptibly swallowed by the forest. with a blow against the machinery in contempt. grandad built well. all of the corners stand straight. the roofline still runs true. but there are wounds. and much, much work for me. mostly, this is why i have been absent from my usual memoirs for several days. instead of a pen or a keyboard, the extension of my creative talents have been applied with a chainsaw, wreathed in two-stroke vapour. tortured with clouds of mosquitos. for four days. not stopping until things broke, or darkness came. mr. practicality. woo. hoo. thankfully, the lights stayed on. nobody was hurt, at least in my small circle. but, this is the weird part: this huge poplar tree, that inflicted the most damage on home and ride... was planted when my mother was born. a few years ago (1996), she was sitting in her home, at the dinette table in the corner, next to where this seventy-year-old tree stands. in a storm. without warning, Thor's hammer strikes a direct hit on this hundred-foot tall lightning rod, sending a rip through the bark to within five feet of were she sat. this same tree, when it fell seven years later, missed her bedroom by mere feet. again. i wonder how closely their fates are intertwined. but i don't want to wonder too much. fate seems to create its own spirals. |
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