July 24, 2005

12:12 a.m.

The Early Morning Misadventure

Last week I was talking with my friend Wes, who recently moved to my town, about walking. He found a great place to walk near his building, and said he likes to get up early, like 8:00, and go walking. I said I'm rarely out of bed by then, and fat chance I'd ever go with him.

But then, two days later, which was two days ago, I happened to get up at 6:00 to pee, and I couldn't help noticing that it was cool outside and the morning was fine, and wouldn't it be a nice time to walk at the state park down the road? So, bleary-eyed and incredulous, I washed my face, put on some shorts, took a fizzy vitamin C and got into my car.

I clocked the park as 7-1/2 miles from home. No one was there, of course; there's one house which I assume belongs to a caretaker, and a ranger-green pickup truck. I parked my Scion in the lot and took my car key off the bunch so I wouldn't be carrying the lot around. I left the remainder, and my phone, in the car, locked up and started jogging down the road.

A perfect morning! Cool, no bugs out yet, rich green woods and blue sky. Boy, was I glad I'd gotten out of bed. But why was my car key so bulky in my pocket?

I pulled it out, and found myself looking at all of my keys, plus the little Brookstone flashlight and all the grocery store keychain cards I've collected. The whole lot, except for my car key.

Which I'd left in the car.

Instead of this bunch.

My jog slowed to a walk, and then to a standstill. Well, I thought; I know I'm locked out of my car, so I might as well have my run and then go knock on the caretaker's door and try to get a ride home for my spare key. I started jogging again.

As I jogged I pictured myself getting a ride home and getting my spare key. Except... to do that I'd have to get into the apartment. With my apartment keys.

Which were on the little ring with the car key.

In the car.

I stopped again.

Okay, alternate plan. My downstairs neighbors still have a set of my apt. keys, from the time I asked Sunny to water my plants. If I got there before they left for work, they could let me in. I checked my watch; it was about 7:00.

I turned around and jogged back up to the house, and knocked a couple of times. There was no answer.

I walked back down the drive to the road, saying a little prayer to my guides for safety. Rt. 6 is busy. It's a minor highway and people go 50 or 60 most of the time. I figured I'd have to flag someone down, but for a while I couldn't bring myself to do it. I just walked back towards town, thinking about how I didn't want to walk 7.5 miles and by then Sunny would be gone to work anyway. I stopped at another house and knocked (about 7:15), but there was no answer again.

Thinking about that famous joke about the guy who wouldn't accept help from anyone in the flood because he "trusted God would rescue him," and then he died and asked God why He hadn't helped out, and God said, "What do you want? I sent you two boats and a helecopter!" -- thinking about that, I knew if I wanted help I'd have to ask, so I flagged a car down. A very nice, plump, slightly effeminate man who was going to work in Hartford gave me a ride in his car which smelled like cigarettes, and we had a lovely chat until he dropped me at the end of my street. I walked up behind our house; my neighbors were home; I knocked on their kitchen window, and they let me in & returned my keys. Once in I got my spare car key and called Wes, waking him up.

"Rise and shine!" I said into the machine, and he picked up the phone. I asked him if he could save my butt and drive me back to the park, and I made him a breakfast sandwich and he came and got me and we had a very nice walk after all.

And this morning I got up early and did it again, only without the part about locking the keys in the car. I RAN. I went to the park and walked and ran. The flies chased me, but I did it. I've been sans aerobic exercise for longer than I want to admit. It feels good to do something.

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If Wes hadn't been around I'd have ridden my bike back to the park. It would have been a little chancy on Rt. 6 but I could have done it. If my neighbors hadn't been home, it would have been trickier. My sister has keys but she's a 40 minute car ride away. Anyway -- all's well.

Meanwhile we played at the yoga center tonight and Carol is still voiceless. We did a Bornearly set and got outta town. It was a good crowd, and we sold some CDs. I miss Carol's voice, and I miss doing her songs. I'm going to get rusty on the bass if I don't have a little practice soon. If she's not much better by Monday, she's going to find an ENT (ear, nose & throat doctor) who can see if she's got something more serious than a little laryngitis. We still don't know about this Wednesday's gig.

********

My trashy neighbors have put in a round, above-ground pool for their kids. Today it was finished, and at 12:40am they're still playing out there. I think most of the yelling has finished, although the music is still on. This is such a character neighborhood -- it's a little seedy, not a place in which you'd want to walk around at night -- and these people are an enigma to me. I gather their primary language is Spanish -- from what I can decipher, as the kids are usually emitting loud, prolonged, hooting neanderthol cries rather than actual words -- and they have a half-feral little Jack Russell terrier who has NEVER BEEN BATHED. He's GREY. He's also very small and often gets through various holes in the fence, and comes and hangs around our yard barking at everything, which is his main occupation. When I look him in the face I can't help but think of the creepy banjo player in Deliverance. This dog has those eyes. I come out the back door, and sometimes he's there, with his solid little stance and his filthy coat, and I hear,

"Dududun-dun-dun-dun-DUN-dun-dun,"

and I turn around and go back inside because I know he is the feral Deliverance doggie from hell, and knows no manner of mercy towards human flesh.

My mother would have called them The Squatleys. That was her name for any color of trash. The ones with all the broken cars in the yard (this family qualifies), and other cast off junk that no one seems to want to actually throw out. Their yard is a pit and I'm at once revolted and fascinated by them. Once the kids were playing and let fly a copper pipe, which sailed over the fence and crashed through Sunny's side window on the first floor. She was so irate, she grabbed the pipe, stormed over to the house next door (where the kids had quickly taken refuge upon the report of broken glass), WALKED right into the house, and said, "All right, WHO THREW THIS?!!" The parents were apologetic, and paid for the window to be repaired. But the kids are... feral. Like the dog. They emit loud, prolonged, hooting neanderthol cries. When I think they've gone inside for the night, I hear the faint strains of a banjo...

In their favor I must say that, though they play a radio in the yard often, it's music I can totally stand (as opposed to the booming salsa parties elsewhere in the neighborhood) and it's not that loud. I don't even hear it in the living room. And they do provide me something to ponder in my third-floor garret, as I wind down from a gig and contemplate going to bed. I think I'll put the airbed in the living room tonight. It's a little quieter.

Sleep well, all.