Telephonic mysteries

First of all, ever since I got a cell phone, I've become one of those people—the kind who are irritated by callers who don't leave messages. I mean, it made sense in the old days, before caller ID (which means up through 2005, for me, and up through the present, for my parents...hey, it's just easier that way). Of course, if you have the wrong number, it makes sense not to leave a message. Yet it still leaves me wondering. Who are they? Why did they dial my number, out of all numbers? Tonight I had a missed call from a foreign area code, which, when I looked it up, appears to be out of South Dakota. I know absolutely no one in South Dakota. Obviously it was a mistake. Yet still, I wonder... Who? Why?

On a less contemplative note, I got my electricity bill today. Only up $14 from my last bill, and this during the coldest weeks of the year (I hope; God I hope!). I've been cold, sure, but my sheepskin slipper boots, silk long underwear and fleece blanket have been my fondest friends. My little wheel-around radiator is also my friend. Warming my clothes on it in the mornings reminds me of childhood, our house in the woods, our big iron stove in the living room and unheated bedrooms. It was always a joy to wake to the sound of my dad building a fire so my brother and I could run out and warm our clothes before dressing. Which makes it sound like we lived in the Yukon in 1935. Which we didn't. Just in northeastern Washington, off a small highway, in our little woods, where things probably haven't changed a whole lot since 1935. Better plumbing, sure. Better dental care. Just as many guns. Fewer trees.

And because it's been a while, and because I'm longing for the days when it's light again in the evenings and I can walk and hike after work, before sunset...

View from the Foothills
10-11-06

—and a bird glided sideways in the wind
its bright underbelly a beacon in the sky
while all its energy concentrated on holding steady
with wings rigid in the updraft.

—and someone made a seat, a long while ago
or just this summer, bracing flat rocks against
each other, facing west. The sun is bright in my eyes.

—and spread below me is the small city, all dark green
except for glaring rooftops and patches
of trees turned gold by the changing days.

—and the scattered succession of reflections
off car windows from the streets below
seem to signal some larger purpose for being here
above the city, alone, watching the influence of wind
and low sunlight on the tufted grasses at my feet.

© 2006 April K Szuch

Comments

[Peter]

When I was single, some friends visited and found me in an overcoat while making pancakes in my kitchen one winter morning.

(I inherited my father's no-nonsense attitude toward fuel costs.)

[Katie]

In response to Peter's comment:

My mom keeps the house at 64 (62 or less at night), and then when I visit she gets mad at me when I quietly appear at the dinner table in a coat! I have what I consider a no-nonsense attitude toward fuel costs and I can't bear a house over 68 degrees, but when it takes several hours to get warm enough in bed to go to sleep . . . hmmm.

April, I bet we'll save even more money when we start having hot flashes like our mothers!