The Night Strangers by Chris Bohjalian
Life is getting more and more strange. At least in my world.
Is it 2012? Is it the planets? Is it solar activity, CMEs?[1] My numerology? Biorhythms? My imagination?
One day last week, I got home in the afternoon and the kids told me, “Mom, the doorbell is ringing on its own.” What? Sure enough, 5 minutes later the doorbell rang, and no one was there. I checked. Then there wasn’t another peep out of it. The thing about our doorbell is it’s pretty new, was installed only a couple of months ago. Also, it has about 6 or 8 different ditties it cycles through before you hear the same one again.
That evening the kids and I had different activities going on, so we all got to bed a little later than usual, around 11:00. Imagine my surprise when the doorbell rang at 1:00 a.m., scaring the bejesus out of me. And again, 5 minutes later. And again, 20 minutes later. I had checked from a window, there was no one there. Yet it kept ringing, with its different tones, every 5-20 minutes until 3:30 a.m. It was so surreal, so bizarre, and I was so stuck in that no-brain zone between sleep and awake, there was no way it occurred to me to try and figure out how the doorbell worked and how to “put a cork in it.” I occasionally dozed between rings, which was horrible, being thrust into waking again, so harshly, by this strange-sounding doorbell. When I didn’t doze, I lay there freaking out, wondering if I should call the police to cruise by, just in case … . Like I said, not thinking clearly.
I still haven’t figured out that lesson. Obviously, learn how to take the batteries out of the doorbell, which I later found out is what I could have done. But other than that? Release attachment to a good night's sleep, perhaps? That morning, I went to take a shower—in the main bathroom, not mine, as the hot water in my shower wouldn’t turn on all the way, for some reason. That had been going on for a couple days. So, I take my wonderful shower in the main bathroom of the house, and when I’m ready to get out, the cold water won’t turn off! Too much. I cranked on that handle as hard as I could; “Left is loose, right is tight,” after all, but to no avail. Unbelievable.
Well, when I finally got dressed and got the water turned off at the source, in the basement, and was on my way to a doctor appointment, I finally had time to ponder this ridiculous night… I guess technically my morning. Ringing bells, running water. Ringing bells, just to remind me that I’m not in Control? A reminder to disregard the meaningless in life, and focus on what counts? To not let distractions derail my Path, my Power and Purpose? And running water—an overabundance, of cold water, a flood, which we had already had enough of here in Vermont quite recently. A reminder to Go With The Flow, to let go of the oars and let the Stream take me …. Or, a reminder that the colder weather is coming, and it’s getting time to prepare for Fall, and its pal Winter. And also a reminder: to squeeze the last drops out of summer, to soak in the sun, to revel in the rivers and bathe in the brooks, to bask in the languid laziness of summer afternoons and give thanks for her Glory.
I am reminded—of long summer afternoons in the 1960s when summers seemed endless, and the grass was so comforting, and comfortable, as I lay upon it, a young child, gazing at the sky for hours, watching the clouds, and letting my brain just wander. Did my mother look out her kitchen window at me, think to herself, “Oh, there she is. OK,” and not worry? Or did she wonder just what the heck was I doing out there and think her firstborn was a nutter?
Ringing bells, running water.
Bells are our alarm clocks, our signals, our indicators that something else needs to happen now. Water gives us life, keeps the cycle of life going, water is a constant reminder of the consistency of the life force of the Universe around us.
Ringing bells, running water. A message brought to you by … Life.
The Devil Colony by James Rollins
stoppable beauty and irrepressible blessing. It's hard for me to now acknowledge that there's not much of it left, this summer of 2011. I haven't climbed Mt. Mansfield yet, nor Camel's Hump, 2 spring goals I have quietly harbored. Where have the days, the weeks gone? There has been lots of time spent in appreciation, though, and time in the mountain rivers, Lake Champlain, Lake Dunmore, an old favorite.
maline greens, sapphire blues; we are given the bounty of the gardens, the freshness impossible to describe but gratefully received; and we are given respite--respite from the harsh demands of fall, prickling us to "get ready," to batten down the hatches before winter's bite; respite from winter's austerity, winter's starkness and barren chilling cold; respite from the interminable wait... waiting for the sun to turn warm once again. Yes, I'm still basking in summer's warmth and delicious glow.
