jumpingfish

You see, we have this experience from a few years ago. A New Year’s Eve camping trip gone awry, where a Travis County burn ban forbade us from having a camp fire, even as the temperatures dropped precipitously. It was so cold that we were caught unawares. In the end, even the boys gave up and headed back to the nearest warm home. But we stuck it out. And we’ve been grumbling about that burn ban and our lousy luck ever since.

So you might imagine our glee as Thanksgiving weekend and our camping trip approached and the Fair and Industrious Trudy checked the Uvalde County web site each day and found no burn bans in effect. Day followed day, and still no burn ban, and our hearts and hopes were warmed.

So when the day of departure arrived and we packed our gear into and onto the car (too much gear), I included a milk crate of kindling and a few bundles of intermediate-sized twigs and sticks and smallish Ash and Walnut and Oak loglets. It’s a habit I got from my grandmother. Walk around the side of our house, and you’ll see another kindling pile already in the making. I was tickled pink to be taking a campfire-ready-to-light along with all our other stuff.

At the Garner State Park headquarters just off US Highway 83, there was a line to check in. And there was a sign taped to the door.  A sign … announcing … a burn ban.

When they called my number and I walked up to the woman behind the counter, I innocently asked, “So there’s a burn ban?”

“Yes,” she said, “just came in this morning.”

So here we are, kindling and wood in tow with a cold blue norther descending upon us. Here we are with plans for three days at the campground in late November … you know … when the sun sets at … what … 5:00, and it’s pitch dark at … what … 5:30. Here we are ready to warm our weary bones by three evenings of glowing embers. And they announced a burn ban that morning!

1. Multivariable Calculus.
2. Advanced Spanish Grammar.
3. Political Sociology.
4. Political Economy of Advanced Capitalism.
5. The Militarization of American Life.

Not bad for a kid trying to figure out where his life is taking him.

1. Nameplate

“Who am I kidding?” I said.

He said he had a nameplate with my name on it. Something from years ago. He said I could come get it whenever I wanted. I said I would.  But then…

“Who am I kidding?” I said. “What on earth will I do with it? Can you just toss it?”

“Will do,” he said. “That’s very funny!”

2. Gotta Go

“I gotta go in five minutes,” he said just after I introduced myself.

The meeting was delayed, and he evidently needed to be somewhere else. In five minutes, he stood up and slung his pack over his shoulder.

“I gotta go,” he said. “I’m just a third-tier backup. I won’t be missed.”

He was right.

3. Moving Fast

“I’d like to see things slow down a bit,” he said.

I chuckled and said, “I need to write that down.”

I was out in the yard yesterday doing something; I don’t remember what. I was either filling the birdbaths or raking up the profusion of Ash seeds and acorns that have been falling. Something like that.

So I was out there, and this car drove by. An old white guy was at the wheel, and he slowed to a crawl as he passed, peering closely at the rental house across the street. This struck me as odd, as he didn’t seem like the kind of guy that would know Martín. I figured it was the lawyer/landlord who owns the place (along with 42 others), although truth be told we haven’t seen or talked to the guy other than thru his secretary for ten years. Then he drove on.

I didn’t think anything of it and continued watering or sweeping or whatever I was doing.

A while later, Guinness barked (He was helping with my chores.). And this same old white guy came walking down the street. He wore a red shirt with “Campbell” emblazoned across the front and was holding some papers under his left arm. He walked up to Alex’s house next door. A few minutes later I looked up, and this old white guy was walking back.

He seemed to be steering clear of our yard and looked at me sheepishly as I raised my head. He held up a stack of red papers, which seemed to match his shirt.

“I’d come over to talk to you, but…”

I figured he was going to say something about the barky dog.

“… but I don’t think it would doing any good.” And he pointed to our blue Lloyd Doggett campaign sign stuck in the grass near the curb.

I looked over at the sign and chuckled.

“Ok,” I said, “but good luck to you!”

He was silent for a moment and he kept walking.

“It’s hard work,” he said.

And he walked down to Joe and Irene’s house and knocked on their door.

My cell phone rang, so I stepped out of the conference room to answer it. When I returned, the man sitting next to me (truth be known, he seemed just a kid) leaned over and whispered something.

“I got up to get a bagel, and I spilled coffee on your laptop.”

He pointed to the corner of my MacBook Pro.

There was no evidence of anything, such an absence of absence in fact, that his confession was admirable. And confession indeed it was, for spilled-liquid-on-the-keyboard is the one thing that invalidates pretty much any warranty or goodwill you might have with Apple to to fixed a borked laptop.

“Did it get into the keys?” I asked.

“No, just on the corner there,” he said.

What courage that took, what conviction. He could have just sat quietly thru the rest of the meeting muching on his bagel and sipping (what was left of) his coffee. And he could have flown back to California (whence he came), and our paths would never have crossed again. And so if there was something amiss with the laptop, it wouldn’t have been trackable back to him. But he confessed his spill.

And in the end, no harm was done.

In fact, I hope our paths do cross again. This is a man I’d work with (or for) any day.