A Cacophony of Change
Summer is coming to a close.
This is the last weekend of the solar season, and soon the deciduous leaves
will begin to show their colors, the tourists will clog our mountain roads, and
the last of the (local) warm-weather veggies will disappear from the farm
stands. But this change is a harbinger
of far more than our planetary wobbly orbit; it seems everywhere I look, things
are in flux, and that’s a good thing.
My four-legged shadow
has recently become overly clingy. Since
my wife and I separated (and she took the other dog, Betsy), Sebastian has
decided that he NEEDS to be
with/next/touching me 24/7, and his obsession is manifesting itself in uncomfortable
scenarios. I find it exceedingly
difficult to go anywhere without him, and I guess the crux of my new decision was
the other day when I ran into Ingle’s (grocery store) to buy some wine. I was gone from the truck for less than five
minutes, but by the time I picked up a bottle of Merlot and headed towards the
checkout, there was a Public Address announcement of a dog in apparent distress
in the parking lot. Now, the only
distress that Sebastian was experiencing was his desire to be with me inside
the store. But that embarrassing episode
led to my consideration of a situational solution. After seeking the counsel of several friends,
including Bubba’s groomer, I have
decided that this weekend we are going to look for another four-legged
companion to occupy at least some of his attention. It will, of course, mean taking on the added
expense of both time and money, but an energetic and accommodating Playmate is
something this household needs, but alas, I will have to settle for a new doggy.
This was the first summer that Sebastian and I were
essentially alone. Yes, we each have our
own set of visitors who come regularly to play and keep us company, but since
last fall we have been on our own. I did
receive an email the other day from my ex giving me the heads-up about a
process server who would be visiting. It
seems she has decided we are going to formally and legally end our marriage;
the actual cessation happened a long time ago.
I wish I could feel something other than complete ambivalence about the
end of a long marriage, but I harbor no anger, no sadness, no celebratory joy,
no anything actually; it is nothing more than a change in the season.
In the midst of this, I reached a pinnacle of frustration over
my pseudo-smart phone’s reluctance to sync my email. The anniversary of my contract allowed for
the more than needed upgrade that would permit me to be away from my computer,
yet still be reachable. Since I do
almost all of my shopping online, I logged on to the Verizon website to shop
and compare. As I made my selection, I
realized that there was a minor complication.
Ten years ago when “we” established our North Carolina cellphone
account, somehow the “account owner” was designated as my wife. In spite of the fact that I pay the bills
(and have agreed to that into the future), and all correspondence comes to me
via email, Verizon wanted to ship my new phone to the registered Florida
address where Shirle lives. I attempted
to resolve the situation with an online chat, but the CSR was completely
ignorant of the problem insisting that I could buy the phone and then call to
have a Customer Service Representative change the address. “Hello, you are a customer service
representative, why can’t you just change it now?” My fuse was a tad shorter than usual, so I abruptly
disconnected and drove the 10 miles to the local Verizon store where an
intelligent representative not only understood, but was able to complete the
transaction, even helping me find a phone that was more situated to my needs
than the one I had picked out online.
An interesting aside: As the Verizon salesperson and I were
concluding the sale and transfer of my data and contacts to my new DROID MAXX, she laughed and said, “Look
at that, you just bought the exact same phone, color and all, as your wife did
last month.” Sheesh!
Change is upon us, the days are growing shorter, the
temperatures are moderating, the first of the stinkbugs have begun to appear
(which means the Ladybugs are not far behind), and the forest orchestra has
begun its percussive beat dropping a variety of acorns, walnuts, chestnuts and
hickory nuts in nature’s syncopated rhythm.
The squirrels and chipmunks are busy gathering the energy rich treats to
stow for the coming winter, while the crisp mountain air reverberates with the
sound of chainsaws harvesting deadfall for its comforting warmth in the colder
months. I have replaced my summer
wardrobe of hats with the more durable leather and wools, and my short-sleeved
shirts have already begun their hibernation.
The inevitability of change is unstoppable.
If you suspect there is melancholy in my words, fear not; I
came to these mountains because of the seasonal alterations. I lived a quarter century in Florida where
nothing changes to a noticeable extent.
I enjoy living where the nature that surrounds me, morphs in regulated
intervals and continually surprises me with its ever-changing kaleidoscopic
views of color and beauty. Yes, change
is in the air in many ways, and time does indeed march on. What was once, is no longer; what is now,
cannot be changed; and what will be, is the surprise of the future. In spite of its requisite disappointments and
unavoidable sadness, life is anything but boring if you take the time to wonder at, rejoice and exploit those changes. Your mind
will revel in gratitude, for without change, we would have no memories.