Walking Out the Door

Dearest Rachel –

It really feels weird to simply walk out the open door and keep going, but that’s how things are this morning. The tiling team is in today to work on the backsplash, so they need to keep going outside, where they’ve got their table saw out to cut each piece to fit. So they’ve got the door propped open for when they need to go outside and cut another piece. It’s a peculiar looking process from the perspective of someone like me who isn’t familiar with their standard operating procedure – and while you might be concerned about security, Daniel’s likely to get particularly annoyed by the bugs he’ll feel compelled to swat at getting inside – but I have to trust that these guys know what they’re doing.

Although, truth be told, there’s not that many bugs around this morning, it would seem. The weather outside isn’t that buggy, or muggy – just a beautiful, sunny morning, with hardly a cloud in the sky. Okay, maybe a few wisps of cirrus high in the sky to the north, but that’s not the fire I’m headed, and they aren’t going to be bringing rain, or even shade (not that it’s quite necessary at this hour), in any event. And, since it’s been so long since I’ve walked across town from home to the ‘office,’ it seems the ideal day to do so. If not today, when?

And so, heedless of the fact that the door stays open behind me, I head out. What else can I do?

The alfresco district in the middle of downtown is fully set up, as it has been since the beginning of May. There’s hardly enough room between one side and the other for a single car to pass through – not like they’re allowed. I’d swear that they’ve expanded their outdoor areas this year – which is fine, since they’ve got all the room on the street to do so.

My attention is momentarily drawn to some sports car racing down Route 14 at full volume. If that thing doesn’t wake up the neighbors, nothing will. I find myself worrying about the guy behind the wheel; not only is he busy trying to compensate for something that he must think he’s lacking, his car is going to make him go deaf, possibly before he goes blind.

I miss the fact that you’d laugh at that joke, before elbowing me and telling me ‘that’s not nice.’

Frontier Days starts tomorrow, and I wander through Recreation Park as the set up continues. I’d take pictures, but I don’t know if they’ll be any different from the ones I took last year at this time.

Okay, this shot of an unfinished roller coaster is a little different.

Most of the rides that have been set up appear to be in the same places that they were arranged last year; it’s the sort of thing I wouldn’t have noticed from year to year if I hadn’t been taking pictures and writing you about them.

I can respect the amusement company’s efficiency in having a preplanned layout, but it does mean that there’s nothing particularly remarkable about this year’s set up that I haven’t already talked about last year. I’m considering that last year, having made a brief wander about the place when it was in operation, and deciding there was nothing worth hanging around for, I fear that this year will be no different. It might be, if I had someone to take with that was excited about the idea (like you), but after another year’s passing, it seems I’m no closer to such a situation; indeed, that possibility appears to draw further away with every day, even as I try to make improvements to my home and life. I’m starting to question the point of it all.

I can feel the blood pulsing in my thumb as it swings back-and-forth past my right hip. The swelling has gone down, and I can fold it against my palm, so at Lars’ recommendation, I’m trying to cut down on my prednisone intake – he tells me that, even for a short-term prescription like this, I should wean myself off, taking smaller doses each day rather than simply going from 40 mg to zero overnight. I still can’t bend it at the knuckle, although I’m able to tie certain things without much pain, so there’s been clear improvement.

I find myself dodging three different landscaping companies in the course of passing only five or six houses. Between these obstacles, passing by one mildly interesting tableau or another, and letting you know all about them, it takes me seventy-five minutes to traverse a three-mile stretch that, at a brisk walk, ought to take half an hour less than that. Thankfully, it’s not as if I’m running late to anything at the ‘office’; if anything, by writing to you (which is my main creative output these days), I’m actually being more productive this way than if I were driving and getting there early, while observing nothing.

Still, now that I’m here, I suppose I should let you go; I’ve seen all I’m going to for a while, and whatever numbers I crunch will be of so much less interest to you than the world outside that I’ve been wandering through.

Take care, and keep an eye out for me and Daniel, honey. Love you.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: