Saturday, November 13, 2004

Saturday Evening Minutiae

Today has been even more uneventful than is the norm for the Falcon's Nest. All's quiet on the home front.

The most physically taxing thing I've done today was to go down into the basement and re-light the pilot on the furnace....WEE! This type of activity is mundane enough and would not normally merit mention except for two reasons. The first reason is probably the more readily appreciated by the majority of you; I really am hurting for something to yak about and have determined upon this bit of banal fluff as the subject matter. The second reason is less appreciable, except by those of you who, like myself, are cursed with this affliction; our basement is a half-basement (which to my mind is an utterly ridiculous invention) and I am 6'1". Now you take a six foot tall man with herniated disks and ask him to maneuver the entire length of a half-basement in order to fiddle with a tempermental old furnace and you have the makings of a real grumpy man.

Add to that the fact that I, to my eternal shame, am slightly arachnaphobic. Now picture in your own mind the image of a guy with a bum back altering the laws of physics by squeezing his stature through a space just a tad over half of that, all the while inventing on the fly a one-man tactical formation for movement through spider city and you might justly indulge in a hearty snicker at the expense of your humble author. I can assure you though that for me it was true toil.

But the house is now toasty warm and is an adequate defense against a cold November Michigan night.

Now I am nestled up to a hot cup of joe, a smoldering lucky and a good old horse opry on the computer's audio player.The Boy and the Bride are warm.

I can now sit here and quietly absorb the memories that will serve as a source of comfort to me when I am an old man. A bright warm house in the middle of a cold dark world; a little boy on the carpet playing with his toy train set. Every track laid with care. In the immediate vicinity of this toy train there are no bills to be paid or bodily aches to be born. There is no Fallujah; nor is there a Middle East. There are no daily cares of adult reality to wrinkle the brow of a small child with a toy train. There are only tracks to keep connected and blocks to knock down. I can warm myself in these moments. I am quieted by these thoughts.

Like the man said....God is in his Heavan, all's right with the world.