Relative Something

Here we are again at the long darkness that marks the end of autumn and the beginning of winter in the northern hemisphere. I always marvel at how dramatically different the environment is after just a short few month’s time. Ah, but it’s all relative, isn’t it? I point out that time flies and time drags on, yet both perceptions reference the same speed of time passing.

This time of year, people gather for holiday celebrations and spread good cheer to friends, family, and strangers alike. Why doesn’t all this goodwill flow equally well during the rest of the year? I fail to see a reason.

May the coming days of increasing light bring you great joy and continual inspiration to live every moment to the fullest!

I have been enjoying a period of vivid dream recall recently. Last week, in a most startling synchronicity, the person I had dreamed about in the early hours of the morning, walked into our business, hours later that same day. It was a total surprise to have this person suddenly standing in front of my desk. Was it intuition on my part?

More recently, I had a dream with horses. Not just horses, but one particular horse that conveyed a mystical intelligence. It was reaching forward toward me and about to pinch the skin of my forearm to send a message. I thought the bite unnecessary, as I felt the point had been made (whatever it was), but the horse kept coming and I expected to feel the shock of pain. In classic dream mode, the pain never occurred, even though I was sure I was being bitten.

Do you think horses are in my future?

I am beginning to discover some issues of living alone that I assume are common knowledge to those who are well-familiar with the situation. One obvious trick is buying groceries. Getting the quantities aligned between the shelf-life of produce and the amount I consume in a span of time has become an important goal for me.

One thing that I didn’t anticipate needing to manage was the ice maker in our kitchen freezer. After Cyndie moved to Boston, the amount of ice being dispensed from the door of the refrigerator/freezer on a daily basis dropped dramatically. My ice use is very sporadic. It happens in spurts where I find myself filling a cup hourly when I enter a phase of habit to have ice chunks melting in my mouth. I don’t normally add ice to my drinking water, so when I’m not in that mode of sucking on ice, I don’t find myself using the ice in our freezer, at all.

After Cyndie had been gone for over a month, I discovered that the ice in the bucket inside the door of our freezer was so old it was becoming one solid block, instead of individual semi-spheres. Apparently, she used just enough ice to keep it from stagnating. Or, maybe she was dumping it out when it was getting old. I never needed to notice.

When I discovered the block of old ice, I removed the bucket and left it out to defrost. Being unfamiliar with the controls on this appliance, I assumed I would need to turn the ice maker off to prevent it from dumping a fresh batch of ice when the bucket had been removed. It has an infra-red sensor to detect when the bucket is full and stops dumping new ice.

The only control I could see, was on the infra-red sensor panel. I slid the paddle switch to the ‘off’ position. When the bucket was clean and dry, I re-installed it in the freezer door and moved the switch back to ‘on.’ After several days, the urge that had me seeking ice took me back to the freezer door. I received wonderfully fresh, clear half-moons of frozen goodness. One cup full. After that, nothing.

After a couple more days, it became obvious something had stopped working. I monkeyed with the switch. I felt all around the surfaces of the ice machine in search of some additional control switch, or for evidence of ice. Not wanting to start the search for a physical manual in our multitude of possible file locations, I went online for insight. I watched an entire video on how to replace parts on ice makers that were different from the one I have. I found a way to replace the infra-red sensor control board on the model that looked identical to mine. The information from that video revealed that the behavior observed from the red indicator on my machine meant it was working as designed. I opened that door about 15 times to look, poke, prod, grunt (I got my finger stuck one time), squeeze, and even just will the dang thing to work. I did nothing technically logical toward affecting the function of the device.

Shortly after that, I heard a valve click and water flowing for a few seconds. Later, I was startled by the loud sound of ice hitting the empty bucket. Then, again, and again. This morning there is over a half-bucket full.

Look at that. I fixed it!

Then there is this: Just as I toss out some thoughts in the direction of leaving town to join Cyndie in Boston, I receive that late-night phone call. It’s the one where the stunned voice of a daughter is heard on the other end. The one where a father’s heart skips a beat, and then speeds up to alarm-rate, bringing sweat to the brow.

Monday night, Elysa returned from a 2-day excursion to find her home had been burglarized. Shards from the glass that formerly sealed her front door were now tracked throughout the house, a result of the criminal’s traipsing, room to room, to ransack for valuables.

There is nothing quite like the awful feeling of violation brought on by nefarious individuals invading our sacred spaces.

Criminals suck.

This incident instantly ripped at a scab that barely covers the wound of my own episode of being victimized by a thief a few years back. An array of threatening scenarios automatically run through a victim’s mind; some, legitimate possibilities, many others, just fear-based imaginings. There are understandable questions about the “how’s” and “why’s” of what actually happened, but the reality is that most of these questions don’t get answered to the degree we expect from watching television crime dramas.

There was a very clear boot print on Elysa’s front door. Seems like it could be used to ID the thug. It doesn’t work that way. This type of crime doesn’t warrant that level of investigation. We find ourselves in the netherworld of being personally traumatized, yet, suffering no physical injury, unqualified for more than a brief visit from a pair of patrol officers and some paperwork to fill out.

I am so grateful to have been available to drive over and meet Julian at Elysa’s house to assist in cleaning up broken glass, to patch the hole in her front door, and to simply be present with her in her moment of distress. Happily, while we were there, Elysa finally discovered a missing cat, holed up deep inside the cushions of a recliner upstairs.

The whole experience sure would have been a lot different for me, if I had already moved to Boston.