jumpingfish

The hot chocolate was comforting — keeping the biting cold of that arctic blast at bay. (I mean, I think it’s 39 degrees out there!)

Anyway… I’m at the sink in the kitchen rinsing out the dark cobalt-blue mug when the fair and industrious Trudy comes back from the living room at a brisk pace.

“I have towels to dry before I sleep.”

Somewhere my grandmother is smiling.

In the depth of night, I tossed aside the many blankets. (It was cold, and we were glad for those blankets, especially the one plugged into the DC socket in the teardrop galley). I opened the door. It was a moonless night. Except for the brilliantly shining stars, it was pitch black outside.

As I sat up, I saw a creature scurry into the night. I rattled the door handle to make some noise and then put on my flip-flops, stumbling as I stood, because I had been sleeping so hard in the warmth of the blankets and the fair and industrious Trudy and faithful Izzy. I cast a glance in the direction of the creature’s retreat.

A gray shadow cowered under the the car. I couldn’t see it clearly, because I was trying to stand without falling. But it was there, watching me. I took a step forward, stumbled, and then swung my foot so as to kick some gravel in the direction of the shadow so that I might have some privacy.

A flip-flop went flying into the darkness. It landed (yes) under the back of the car — precisely where the cowering shadow had been. I walked over to retrieve my footwear still stumbling as I went. I picked found the flip-flop and then tripped. The flip-flop flipped back to the ground and flopped further under the car. 

I kneeled down. The gravel ate into my knees. Certainly by now, the creature would have fled, I thought as I groped under the car as far as I could, feeling around in the darkness for the renegade flip-flop, finding it after a moment, stumbling again as I stood up. My head having cleared, I walked off into the gloom at the edge of the woods, which had been my original intended destination.

Went I returned, the fair and industrious Trudy was snoring contentedly, oblivious to the hazards her husband had braved. As I shivered from the chill, I pulled the door shut and the many blankets back on top. Izzy came over and lay down next to me. Before my head hit the pillow, I was back asleep.

And there never was further evidence of the creature’s proximity.

1. Lunch

The Soup Peddler is a small place — just a shack on a busy corner beside a strip center with a small covered patio and a small fence-enclosed greensward. There are picnic tables on the lawn and a ping-pong table under open sky. It’s an Eden in the city.

Trudy and I stopped there for lunch yesterday. We ordered soup (of course) and apple/muenster grilled cheese sandwiches.

The Mulligatawny made me think of Akshay. He and I used to go there for a break from writing Scala code. He and his family moved to Costa Rica years ago where he lived the dream, put his computer aside for years, and is now a true believer again.

2. The Tutor 

 The air was a bit brisk, so Trudy and I sat on the patio under deliciously warm propane heaters. To be fair, our notion of brisk likely differs from many. Still, the warmth felt good, and in the event we weren’t alone. 

After ordering her lunch at the walk-up counter, a woman smiled and sat down beside us. I was on a bench holding Izzy on a short leash. Trudy was on a bar stool.

“May I pet your dog?” the woman asked.

“Of course,” Trudy said. “Her name is Izzy.”

The woman smiled and whispered to Izzy. She mentioned her dogs and parenthetically a cat. Gradually the conversation revealed that she was a math tutor. (Like that’s just how a conversation with a stranger would go, right? Are you a math tutor? Why yes, I am.)

3. Shared Thoughts

I looked at the woman in silence for a moment. She waited for me to speak.

“Do you…,” I started out, thinking it silly. “Do you tutor Austin High students?”

“Yes I do!” she said after a moment, and she mentioned a name. “Is she a student of yours?”

“She is!” 

We talked about the student. We talked about teaching high school students. About the importance of taking notes. Staying organized. How it’s hard for them to catch up if they fall behind. 

We could have talked about so much more, but a face appeared in the window at the counter, pushed out a to-go bag, and called out a name.

“That’s mine,” the woman said as she stood up. “It was nice to meet you.”

4. Small World?

Who would think it? I thought at first. What a small world, right?

Except no. This happens frequently now, unlike when I taught in Bastrop County.

One of my students lives five houses down the block and honks as she drives by. Another works at the YMCA where we go. We have found ourselves sitting next to my students and their families at a pizza place. A student of mine has said hello from the corner of a sandwich shop. I saw one in Pease Park in the dark with his family as we all carried our lights at the solstice celebration three days ago.

The wonder of working close to home. 

photo credit : The fair and industrious Trudy

Not-so-silent Saturday sunset on the solstice with Minor Mishap.

#silentsunday