Ups and Downs

Dear George,

Our weekend bounced back and forth between minor life glitches and fun events.  On Friday the doorbell rang, and it was Pete, the guy who with his partner Don had done expensive brickwork on our house last month.  I always cringe when I see Pete.  He said he and Don had been driving by and saw some loose slate tiles laying in the gutter on our roof.  They showed me the tiles and gave me an estimate, so I said go ahead and fix it.  I volunteered that our porch roof gutter seemed to not be emptying.  Pete replaced the roof tiles, then said that they’d need to install a new downspout so the gutter would drain properly and also showed me where the gutter had open holes from the rust and needed relining.  The whole job took about two hours and cost a small fortune.  I always think we’re being gouged, but Pete and Don seem to have appointed themselves our roofers. 

 

On Saturday we went to the Cirque du Soleil at NKU with Donna and several of Katja’s chums from work.  While I would never choose to go on my own because of the pricey tickets, I did enjoy it.  It’s a grand amalgamation of circus acts, a marching band, ballet, comedy, gymnastics, colorful costumes, etc.  We saw fire dancers, a juggler who juggled eight balls at once, contortionists who twisted their bodies into positions you would not think physically possible, death-defying trapeze artists, a bungee cord acrobat, cutting edge clowns, an androgynous person rolling about the stage in a hoop, and many other extraordinary happenings.  I laughed at the clowns, gasped at the trapeze artists, watched the contortionists in amazement, and thoroughly enjoyed the songs of the lady dressed in white who provided continuity to the whole event.  The music, honky-tonk and discordant, was infectious, and the audience was presented with one unbelievable feat after the next.

 

When we got home I got the mail and opened a letter from the City Building Inspections Department which said that they had approved air conditioning work in our house last year, but the required inspection had never been done.  This is the sort of  notice from the government bureaucracy that makes me nervous.  I dread the idea of a city inspector coming into our house because our basement and attic are like the news stories that you read where an elderly woman is killed by the mountain of junk which collapsed upon her.  Will the building inspector declare our house a fire hazard?  Where can I hide all the stuff?

On Saturday night we watched The Wrestler on HBO.  Mickey Rourke was marvelous, though the movie was unrelentingly gloomy.  Rourke plays a down-an-out aging wrestler at the end of his career who is undergoing physical decline, an anguished severing of ties with his estranged daughter, a failed, hurtful attempt at romance, a catastrophic effort to take on a new menial job, and a Rocky-like comeback attempt which, of course, results inevitably in the wrestler’s death.  The death part is the most positive event in the movie.  Except for the fact that the entire story is about retirement and aging, I didn’t see any personal relevance to it.

 

On Sunday afternoon I went out to use the SUV which was parked across the street next to the bank, and I found that I’d received a parking ticket.  It turns out that they had installed “No Parking” signs while I’d been parked there.  On Saturday afternoon they’d put a announcement of such on the car.  Then on Sunday they’d given me a $95 ticket.  I thought that was ridiculous.  I’d parked in a perfectly legal space, and they had changed it to be illegal.  I thought about going to court to appeal my ticket, but it’s easier to pay it and feel persecuted. 

After getting the ticket we went to the last concert of the season at the Linton Chamber Music Series.  This is Katja’s thing, since she grew up in a classical music household. I do realize that the Linton concerts are special and have to conclude that they make me a better person.  The performers are world-class musicians, and the small size of chamber music ensembles allows you to concentrate on the individual instruments. I did suggest to Katja that, given our retirement status, we might want to discontinue being patrons of the Linton concerts, but she didn’t seem to hear me.

 

As we drove home we passed the Highland Coffee House, and I asked Katja if she remembered when we used to go there in the old days.  She said we never went there, that I might have gone there with colleagues. Though I insisted that we did go together, I was no longer so sure.  We passed some kids riding bicycles, and Katja asked me if I knew how to ride a bicycle.  I said sure, that everybody does.  Katja said she never learned, having grown up in the inner city.  I reminded her that we used to ride bicycles together, but she said we never had.  I claimed, in fact, that we had ridden our bicycles together to the Highland Coffee House.  She said I was losing my mind. 

 

I’m looking forward to the coming week.  After days of steady rain, we’re getting some sunshine this week, and I’m eager to take some photos, maybe at the zoo.  Donna is heading to Nashville for some family medical stuff, and Sophie’s coming to pay us a visit for a few days.  Having a house full of three dogs is always 50% more fun than two.  And who knows what else will be in store?

Love,

Dave

G-Mail Comments:

-Linda C (5-6): so who do you think is correct about the bike and cafe, art would readily admit he could not remember what year anything happened or even if it did happen, i however, have a mind like a steel trap, at least for old times, short term not always as good but i am blaming it on grief, i think i have a better memory than my kids and in fact a lot of my friends call and ask me what THEY were doing at such and such a time.

-Terry OS (5-3): Dear David:  If I contacted you every time I find something delightful on your blog, I would wear out my welcome.  However, periodically, I really need to express my joy and appreciation for this lovely distraction to which I am now pretty much addicted.  Of course, the youth/Menominee references are the ones that most frequently bring a quick tear to my eye (e.g., Jean Worth's camp) but I also thoroughly enjoy the tales of your post-Menominee and contemporary life.  And how else would I ever have known that Abra is getting married?  Thank you!

Terry