Power Lines, Big D Awaits His God, and Mom's House: Front and Back

Among the Kittens

When I found my mother, she was wearing two coats and slippers she had knitted herself. She knits slippers and gives them out as gifts to friends. They are fairly useless, and the best you can say is that, when down, she likes to help people however she can. Still, they are sad looking, and not warm -- they are oddly shaped and remind me of the slip-on paper shoes you put on when you're going through a germ-free area. I suspect she was wearing multiple pairs.

*

I drove the backroads through Groton back to Townsend.

When I got home, the cats erupted in joy at seeing me. I am not exagerrating. They continually jumped on my legs and tried to get me to pick them up, and I would take turns holding them in front of the window for warmth.

I began doing dishes. At first, being in the house was shockingly cold. It stung a little to breath. The pipes were okay and the water was warm, and this brought me comfort. Not so bad, this doing dishes nonsense!

At one point, I took a break. I was hand drying the knives because I know that the kittens would jump on them and I didn't want any lacerations. I left the water running over the dish soap because it had frozen over and I was thawing it out, drop by drop.

I looked in the freezer, out of curiosity, to see if it was cold enough for the burgers to still be frozen. They weren't, but I felt circulating air. How odd, I thought for a moment, before realizing what had happened. I turned around. Sure enough, the microwave was on, and the heat was starting to kick up. A single light burned in the bathroom.

*

My mother's neighborhood was hit hard. Worse than mine. Trees I remember from childhood lay broken across driveways. I saw smashed cars and downed lines. Fences broken. And everywhere, the ice along the side of the road that glittered like broken glass.

*

I'm back home now. Of course, the power could go out again. It seems that the downed line only affects the houses after ours.

*

In the process of all this Big D has discovered a new favorite toy: filthy Brillo pads. Add this to shoelaces and toothbrushes and fake mice in the Kitten Paradise.

*

The cats continue to clamor around me, and I think of my warm reception and how, soon after I arrived, the heat came back on. In the same way that Slappy thinks of Jess as some sort of Superchihuahua, I suspect I've confirmed in their minds that I'm a God of Felines.

I read an informal interview with a Zen master. "I used to be a tiger. But now I am a cat." And the master smiled, looking quite pleased.

Playlist

1. "I Should Have Known Better," Wire
2. "Long Ago and Worlds Apart," The Small Faces
3. "Down by the Riverside," Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins, and Jerry Lee Lewis
4. "Dictatosaurus," Probot
5. "Girl from Orbit," Sterling Roswell
6. "So Lonely," Tim Buckley
7. "She Devil," Lonnie Johnson
8. "Death Room Blues" Blind Willie McTell
9. "That Old Sweet Roll (Hi-De-Ho)," Dusty Springfield
10. "Johnny Come Lately," Steve Earle
11. "Blood Song," Entombed
12. "I Don't Want to Forget How to Jive," Thin Lizzy

Zen at War

Check out Josh Baran's interesting review of Brian Victoria's Zen at War, a book detailing, among other things, collusion between Zen masters and the Nazis during World War II and institutional Zen support of imperial regimes.

A Free CF

I texted Billy last night, telling him there was a free UFC on Spike last night. I've been trying to get him to start watching the fights, and he shows no interest.

He texted back: "A free cf."

CF is warehouse slang for a clusterfuck, but it also seems to indicate something broader. We started calling things cf's when we noticed how easily some guys threw the term around. Traffic? A clusterfuck. A box in the way? A clusterfuck. So we referred to the slightest complication as a cf.

But then we began to see the situation of our lives in general as a cf. Both in the ironic sense and the other: that, on same level, we really are screwed.

But Billy hit the nail on the head.

I lay on the couch like a sponge, not wanting to do much other than curl up with my girl.

*

I've spent the last two days with the dog by my side almost the whole time. Slappy was bonded to Jess before I met her, so no matter how much time we spend together, I no longer exist when Jess comes in the room. But it still felt odd to drive off this morning without her, my little travelling companion through the complications of the last few days.

*

I need to get to Townsend and check on the cats and the pipes. I just need to make sure. And I need to do the dishes. After that, I need to answer a few questions about how the week might unfold: where I'll stay, how I'll get through work.

My brother picked up my mother yesterday and brought her to the warehouse and tried to keep her entertained with movies on a portable dvd player. She doesn't have the patience for most movies.

Quickly, she decided she wanted to go home, even though the house was dropping in temperature and was already in the low forties.

"I couldn't talk her out of it," my brother told me.

And we both came to the conclusion that at this point in her life, after facing a few major disappointments and an endless list of minor ones, on some deep level all she wants is not to leave the house.

*

I'm back in the North Andover Starbucks where I posted from yesterday.

It's early -- not yet nine -- but they are playing slick reggae. It's a noxious music to write to. At least for me. Talk about cultural context! A cold day in one of the whitest towns in the state, and they're cranking world music with that crazy beat! Let's dance! Let's read the paper!

I wanted to take the same parking space I did yesterday, for the sake of continuity, but someone had parked in two spaces. I thought about breaking their sideview mirror. Briefly, mind you.

I did that one. Someone had parked flush against my car on the driver side, even though they had plenty of space on the other. It was simple laziness. So I hip checked their side view mirror as I tried to squeeze past and surprised myself when it came off like cooked chicken from the bone.

*

I've got the itunes running to counter the reggae. Once again, it saves me. "Tarpit" by Dinosaur Jr., followed by Muddy Waters, Benny Goodman, and the Motorhead cover of "God Saves the Queen."

God save your mad parade. No more!

The Great Slappy Rescue

I'm in the crowded North Andover Starbucks. It's in a strip mall. Cars bomb in and out, and everyone honks at each other even though it's nearly impossible to start backing out of a space with full visibility. The whole place has the air of barely restrained chaos. Two old guys with stroller are sitting next to me. They keep tell each other to fuck off. One claims to be pushing 100. One of them knocked my bookbag over on his way to the table and he looked down and cursed at my bag.

*

I bought lunch at Fuddruckers -- a place that reminds me of the restaurants in Idiocracy, an underseen and underappreciated film. I've never been there before. It's a burger bar. There were lots of kids inside, so that getting a burger and putting a little ketchup and a few pickles on top took nearly fifteen minutes. I suspect it's a good place to take a kid, assuming you don't mind preloading his arteries with fats. Get 'em started young!

Aside from not knowing where else to go -- not familiar with this part of the state -- I got burgers because I figured it was a sure bet for the hungry dog.

She sat on my lap and we ate together. She seemed grateful.

My laptop battery died and I still have half an hour before Jess gets out of the movie so I can hand the dog over. I just wanted a little more juice for the laptop, so I bought a coffee and I'm here now, writing.

One of the old guys breaks the silence. "We're here now. Dot dot dot. I don't see nothing happening."

I wonder if he's mocking me, the writer. He seems to be looking at me.

I cranked the heat in the Hyundai for Slappy. I need to get back out to her soon. We'll sit together in the car, with her on my lap, and I'll finish my coffee and start reading the Percy book.

*

An angry customer is at the counter. I hear her say: "Well, you should hang a sign up!"

"We can't hang up a sign about that," the worker says. The staff look tired.

The old guys are drinking their coffee and eating Sun Chips. They seem more at ease with each other, now that they're settled.

"Is that coffee strong enough for you?"

"Not as strong as you, my friend."

It's a compliment and they both laugh.

Now and the Prequel

I'm sitting in the North Andover Starbucks parking lot. Slappy is next to me. I was fine in the house without heat, but it's a mexican dog with a thin coat, and she was starting to look dangerously cold this morning. I have a Starbucks card so I'm able to get an internet connection while sitting here, keeping the dog warm.

So I cancelled my reffing duties and drove out to Middleton. Jess is at the movies and they left the house open for me, but there is also an aggressive dog who lives there. I was almost killed by the same type of dog when I was younger, and although I've gotten over my fear of dogs, I still feel uncomfortable around them when they get aggressive. Around this dog, I actually feel sick to my stomach. So I backed out and now I'm hanging with Slappy. She looks like she has to take a shit, but I don't have a leash for her and it's too cold for her to be outside anyway.

I finished last night with a Founder's Old Curmudgeon Ale -- a piney, surprising drink. Not something I'd drink every day, but welcome last night in the weather.

And I went to bed with all three animals as well as a copy of Walter Percy's The Moviegoer, which I hardly remember reading although I do remember wondering why I haven't gotten to it sooner, since he can really write.

*

My mother called me this morning, telling me her house was at 47 degrees and that she had run out of food. I tried calling my brother for help, but his phone was shut off. I found out later that his power went out, too. He drove down to pick her up and now they're both in the w -- the only place they could find with heat. Billy called and told me about it. He told me my brother expected to stay there all day and maybe through the night if they had to.

*

I have a lot more to say, but limited battery power on the laptop. I'm going to cut and paste my entry from last night below. Along with the following longish entry, I got out another 2,000 words on the novel I'm writing. With the writing and the cooking and the animal rescue mission, it's been a productive time.

*

(Here's yesterday's entry -- I didn't have a connection so I'm posting it now).

A tree fell onto the power lines across from our house early this morning, some time before six. I was already awake and heard the crack.

I told Jess I had to get up early and make it into work for a delivery. Billy had already called and left a message on his phone, telling me that the power was out in the w, and that he needed help if I could make it early. I leave my phone in the car at night, because cellphone reception is frustratingly sporadic at the house. Plus, I like being cut off somewhat.

I tried to drive in. The tree had fallen all the way across the street, so I couldn’t go my normal route. When I called the police dispatcher and told her about the fallen tree she thanked me and was about to hang up, but then shouted just as I was about to hit the red to tell everyone to stay home.

A combination of the slightest fog on my windshield with the total power outage in town made visibility low, and once I began to find myself hoping I was on the road and not someone’s yard, I decided I would turn back.

I was tired anyone, and didn’t mind sleeping in. I kept getting calls: from my mom, from Billy, from the boss. At one point, the cats busted into the room. They’re not supposed to be on the bed, because Jess and I are both slightly allergic. They purred happily and Slappy started chasing them off. She knows they’re not supposed to be on the bed, and guards it with a little strain would-be sheep dog.

Jess decided she had to go to work, and took a long route in, being blocked off by police at various occasions. She called when she made it down.

I happily chose the route of lazy sensibility, and have used the day to make a rich chicken stock from some bones I was saving for the purpose. I’m also seasoning my skillets and making a steady supply of cowboy coffee.

Cowboy coffee is when you smash the whole beans with a hammer and boil them in water, and the result is surprisingly mild and pleasant. I didn’t want to go into the basement without lights, so I used a metal measuring cup which worked well.

I’ve also been able to take some pictures and read, making one of the few days in recent memory that has been productive on my own terms. More serene than any blueblood.

*

When I mentioned to Billy that I was still looking for work he said, “You’re going to get one of those jobs where you work eight hours. I don’t understand that. I’m a fucking blue collar. Ten hours minimum.”

“Yeah, but what if you could make more money working less hours?” I asked him.

“I just know that it won’t happen.”

*

And now I have to go outside and make sure the outside hose is disconnected. Jess and the Dufflebag will probably stay at her stepmom's. I’m going to stay here to watch the pipes and animals.

Having no power reminds me of the more pleasant aspects of living on the farm. The best moments there were generally when I was alone at the edge of the field, drinking coffee and reading a book. I suppose it returned me to a childlike sense of things I look for more easily than, say, a drug. Tricky we sometimes need difficult situations to force us into enjoying ourselves and our lives on any meaningful level. But you all knew that.

For dinner, I’m going to make a roast garlic soup from the stock. It gets dark early around here, so I’m going to have to amuse myself with whatever solace my electric lantern provides, up until the batteries die. That amounts to a book or two, and the three remaining winter lagers in the refrigerator. Plus the soup, plus the dog, and it’s a darkness to look forward to.

I’ll miss my girl. But I won’t miss the lights.

*

The roast garlic soup. I made it in the dark, so the spices burned slightly, and it came out less than perfect. Still, however, a soup that seemed to taste better by the spoonful.

I made it with the chicken stock. I set the stock out on the porch to congeal the fat, which I skimmed after driving the Dufflebag to Jess for pickup. They’re going to stay with her stepmother. Now that I’ve gotten it out of my system – the cooking, really – I wish I was there with them.

But I really needed to get it out of my system.

Alongside the soup, I drank the Dogfish Head Brewery’s Olde School ale, which proports to be a barley “wine-style” ale. I poured it in one of the pewter mugs I rescued from my mother’s house this week.

If you’ve never drank beer from a pewter mug, you are missing a great pleasure.

The roast garlic soup is poured over a piece of browned French bread. I made the mistake of using less oil than the recipe called for – stupid American – and the spices burnt. I’ll know next time. But still, my mouth is still active: all with the garlic soup. Think a French onion soup but with garlic, chilies, and romano cheese. The bread becomes soggy, except at the edges, where the browning made it crisp.

Even if the initial taste was slightly bitter, the aftertaste is one of the most well wintered tastes I know. The house, for example, is no longer cold.

The remainder of the chicken stock went back on the porch, along with the other ales I bought for the evening and beyond.

*

I’m told that the ice storm discriminated. Some parts of the state are wondering if they need an umbrella, others are thinking Mad Max. We are of the Mad Max.

A car drove repeatedly around the common, honking its horn.

I saw two near accidents as people drove through unpowered traffic lights, and this in a short drive.

My way out to meet Jess involved a long detour, past Blood Farm. I found an ATM and deposited the check I picked up yesterday. I bought the ale, the bread, and the cheese.

Right now, I’m missing Jess. I want both her, and the books, and the writing, and the animals, and all else.

Slappy is sitting on my chest, shivering. She’s cold, and wondering why.

Bubbs, the writing cat, is by my side. As the order normally goes, Big D will join us soon, climb up, and make it difficult for me to do anything but sit and provide comfort to the beasts.

*

I’m looking into my lantern. I can see a few insects inside. I’m surprised to see them there. The last time I used the lantern regularly, I was living in the trailer, on the farm, and I wonder if the bugs are preserved from that short, but transformative, time of my life. They might as well be preserved in amber from a prehistoric past.

I’m not sure if the lantern is duller than I remembered, or if the batteries need to be changed. I have a fresh batch of D’s, but I’m still hesitant to change them, not knowing how long I’ll be here, without power.

*

I’ve continued to write. And my cheeks continue to suggest roast garlic. I still feel warm.

I took a few pictures today. I’ll post them once I have internet access. They show the house, and the tree that fell across the street. It’s still out there. No one has gotten around to removing it yet. This makes me think we have time to wait.

*

I’ve cracked open the second craft ale, a Dogfish Head Brewery Midas Touch. It’s made with honey and saffron. I find the way the bottles are marketed a little annoying and overstated. This hardly matters: the beer tastes good. Although, still, no matter how good it is, it’s still hard to take when being drunk from bottles meant for children, not monks, not Sumerians. I would go so far as to say that the labeling is tasteless, but by saying that I put myself among the tasteless myself, so let’s just say I’ll focus on the taste, which I like very much, and leave the rest for the market.

*

The damn dog is sleeping under one of my writing arms. The good one, at that! Damn dog.