Several years ago
a bookstore set an old manual typewriter on a desk, put a stack of clean white
paper next to it, and left it. The predictable happened—people came by, stuck a
sheet of paper in, and wrote whatever was on their minds, from poetry to predictions,
and maybe even a few curses. Someone with an even better idea collected those
tidbits and compiled them into a book. My son-in-law Brandon is a bibliophile
and likes odd, offbeat books, so of course I got this one for him one
Christmas.
I was reminded of
that book recently when I saw a picture of a battered, old metal desk someone
has set out on a rise in the desert outside Alpine, Texas. The desk has a
chair, some paper, and I guess a few pens or pencils. Hikers are invited to
stop, enjoy a magnificent desert scene laid out before them, and jot down their
thoughts. They say there is never a waiting line, because even if the desk is
occupied when you arrive, no one stays long. Seems to me it might be worth a
trip to Alpine, just to sit at that desk.
But you have no
idea how I longed for the solitude of that lonely desk as I sat at my desk this
morning. I’ve recounted my plumbing saga recently, but today was a new chapter.
Keith, the plumber who has done all the work on my house for years arrived,
with his helper, Adam,. ready to roll up their sleeves and attack the blockage.
First the camera,
which involved such high-pitched whining noises that I took my hearing aids out
and worried about Sophie’s sensitive ears. Then, from the sound, they snaked a
roto-rooter kind of thing down into the pipe—and Sophie went crazy, sure that
there was an animal in the bathroom that she had to frighten away with her
barking, which was so frantic it was almost as high-pitched as the machinery
had been. Sophie is technically a medium-sized dog, neither big nor miniature,
but when she gets carried away, she sounds for all the world like yippy tiny
dog—not pleasant.
By the time, Keith
and Adam were both working outside, so she was free to go in the bathroom. But
when she gets in the bathroom and barks, it acts like an echo chamber. A bit
cowed by the noise, she spent some time under my desk, which was preferable—I could
reach down and calm her with a loving hand. But then some noise outside, some
small change, would send her charging into the bathroom to bark or up on the
couch where she could look out at the area where the men were working. She
barked so much she ran herself dry and drank an entire bowl of water. Then, of
course, her frantic took a new direction—she need to go outside. I was hesitant
to let her out because I thought she’d bother them, but I had no choice. Luckily,
I got her back inside fairly easily.
Through all this
noise, I managed to knock out almost 900 words of a proposal for a new project.
In the quiet of the evening, I’ll re-read and see if it makes any sense at all—I
have my doubts. When Keith and Adam went to lunch, and I tried to sneak in a
nap. They never returned, but as soon as I settled in the bed, the yard guys
came with their noisy equipment, which also drives Sophie into a barking
frenzy. Lesson learned: if I confine her in the bedroom with me, with both
doors closed, she suddenly goes quiet. What a great thing to learn.
The plumbers will
be back tomorrow, but first there will be professional diggers. That sends a
bit of a chill through me. The broken
pipe—probably original to the house—is buried deep in the caliché rock on which
all the houses on our hill sit. It’s not easy or quick digging. But Keith assures
me once the digging is done, he can fix it pretty quickly. There is light at
the end of this dark tunnel.
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