I was at the childhood home again. We had a house fire when my sister and I lived with my mom at 345 Bayview Street, in Yarmouth, Maine. Actually, I was the only one home at the time. My sister and mother were on a cruise. It started in the barn and climbed its way over to the house. I'm not going to go into the details, but this was a big deal back in the day (February of 1991), I lost everything I had--including all my poetry, recordings and a whole studio filled with equipment. It was a major blow to everyone.
The house was rebuilt. It looked quite nice, actually. I got a check for the loss of my equipment. Anyway, I was there again after the new construction was completed. But, I noticed that the walls didn't quite fit correctly and we had an enormous rainstorm. Drops were coming through the edges of the walls.
I was really pissed off at the contractors for doing such shitty job. Everywhere I walked in the house, a new part of the ceiling would soak through with rain and it would drip right onto my head. I was thinking about how I was gonna get my mom (who owned the house) to file a lawsuit against the contractors. I was in battle mode! But, for some reason or another, she just would not agree. This just infuriated me. I felt like no one was getting the message. This was ridiculous, and then the ceiling would soak through and another drop of rain would fall on my head.
* * * * * * *
I woke up from this dream to find that indeed I was in my tent and freezing rain was sticking to the seams of the tarp/fly and was now dripping through the screen and onto my head. Doh!
I sat up and clicked on the flashlight to find a small pool under the head of the sleeping bag. The foot end was fine. Out came the Starbucks and McDonald's napkins. It wasn't hard to mop up and I quickly wrestled out the little blue hiking tarp from Saggy, got out of the tent and fitted it over the head end of the outside of the tarp/fly. Instantly, the problem was solved. The dream was telling me that *I* was the dumbass owner and contractor of this tent. If it wasn't outfitted properly it was my own damn fault. I had to laugh out loud. Good thing the leak didn't happen during a have-to-go-pee dream. Ha!
Everything else looked fine. The stakes had done their job on the outside keeping everything taut. I wanted to record the ice crystals hitting the two tarps above, but my batteries were dead in the recorder. Little drummer boys who couldn't quite pin down the rhythm. That's all I could think about. I wasn't especially tired, but I knew I had to sleep. I guess I was worried that I didn't know how much the Super 8 room would be the next day and wasn't sure I'd have enough for it.
Tap, tap, t-t-t-tap, t-t-tap, tap, t-tap... I thought I might hear a pattern somewhere in these little drum hits, but no. Sometimes it sounded like blankets of ice crystals hit the whole top of the tent at the same time! I was so glad I could be inside my sleeping bag, and under the shelter of the tent. In fact, it occurred to me, that it was a really great experience to be warm and safe only a few nylon membranes away from the storm outside.
Facing cold weather is something one gest used to. Yes, it always sucks to step out into the frigid air after being inside. And yes, the thought of not being able to go back inside--having to spend the night out in this on purpose, seems an insane form of self-punishment. But when I start walking, within ten minutes, I'm not shivering anymore. When an hour has gone by I'm completely used to the temperature. That's what makes it such a pleasant feeling to crawl into the sleeping bag. It warms me up right way, with no delay, hey, hey, hey... Sorry, that one got away from me.
It was really coming down. And, the temperature wasn't low enough to keep it all as ice on the ground, or on the tent. But there was so much sleety, icy rain that whatever was gathered on the ground cooled things down more, and tiny beads were piling up like little glass pearls.
All night I heard the tapping of the sleet, but at some point there started to be other sounds. There were small thumps all around me in every direction. Sounded like people were tapping their boots together. But of course, I knew it was snow accumulating on branches and then dropping off onto the ground. What I didn't know was how droopy these branches would get, weighed down by ice.
I woke up sometime before dawn and saw a lot of tree branch shadows on the tent, along with a brown spider staring at me from outside the tent screen. She was pleased to have found the cover. She looked a lot like a brown recluse, but was missing the little fiddle-shaped mark on her back. I don't know what species she was.
Finally, the sunrise came, such as it was; more like the dimmer switch in the sky was slowly being cranked to "brighter."
It was time to assess the damage...
Three to four inches of ice pellets.
The trees were half their normal diameters;
branches drooping right down to the ground.
I noticed that I'd missed putting a second stake it the
flap and ice piled right up to the door.
Now corrected in the picture above.
Inside, except where the stakeless flap had been touching the tent, everything was dry.
The blue hiking tarp is a quick answer for potential leaks.
If there was a two week period of solid rain, as happened in Athens,
I could use the new green tarp on top, but I would need a pad underneath
the sleeping bag, because of the coldness of the ground.
The decision was made by my committee of one to leave the tent there while I stayed at the Super 8. The ground under it was still dry. The sleet was turning to a cold drizzle now, so disassembling the tent and tarp/fly would mean both would get drenched (at this point the tent itself was dry). Plus, I had three miles to walk that morning to get to the motel. POMA. The tent stayed, and I left...
The grass and street were covered with a slushy mix that kept alternating between being frozen from the wind and thawed by the ground or pavement below it. It was a miserable mess for walking in shoes. Thankfully I still had good treads. And they were quite warm, but not waterproof...
Taken after crossing Route 29--still two miles to go.
Drivers didn't know what the hell they were doing.
There weren't many. But just regular folks trying to get to work
were slipping all over the place, or being overcautious. I was happy to be walking,
but I kept an eye on the craziness around me.
It took a solid hour to get from the sleep spot to the motel. I had fared better than Saggy. It had pockets of ice flakes all over the top. I didn't even know they were there until the guy behind me said something about it in the motel lobby.
The woman at the front desk, Donna, recognized my name right away. Joyce had done a good job of setting up this stay. I was treated quite well. The whole staff was great actually--very friendly. I bought the room for one night and went to it, using the elevator to the second floor.
It was nice, with a large king sized bed, dining area, fridge and microwave, clean, with good fixtures and a fully functioning bathroom. I had no complaints. You definitely get what you pay for. All the other places in town were over $80 per night before taxes. This place was $82.00 after taxes. Well, worth it, but much more than I am usually willing to spend. Still, it was really nice to have my own space to work and live in again, if only for one night.
Outside, there was a brief break in the weather, and then real live snow began to fall. The temperature went down and the wind blew up. Looking out, I felt sorry for anything that had to be in that. I did however, also feel confident that if I had to be out in it - in the tent - I could do it. These two feelings took along time to harmonize with each other. Actually, I'm not sure they have yet: The desire to be warm and have everything taken care of for me, versus the acceptance of being only warm in a sleeping bag and working on my own to be sure that I have taken care of everything. Two years ago I would have never guessed that I would actually want both.
I got set up and published my post. It took a longer than usual...about seven hours. By late afternoon a donation came in. I was going to be able to eat that day. I went over to Denny's and got a Grand Slam Breakfast. I like Denny's and no fast food places were open. When I passed by it earlier, Starbucks looked like they had left their "Temporarily Closed Due to Weather" sign up at about closing time the evening before (smart).
Inside Denny's the head server was all frazzled, but performing her duties quite nicely. I really enjoyed that breakfast. I paid, and was headed back to the Super 8 when I noticed that a large pickup couldn't get up a very gradual hill. He was gunning the shit out of it and the four wheel drive only caught a bit of tar every few thousand tire revolutions. Finally, he was able to get moving again; something he did with a cloud of blue smoke following him. Yeah, I was happy walking.
I worked a little more, and then threw in the towel for the night, checking out the standard TV stations. There was no Food Network, or National Geographic, or Travel Channel, but in a way it was better, for lack of their mind-numbing and repetitive commercials. There was weather, CNN, and several documentary-like channels. I watched about a half hour of biography of Marlon Brando. It was good. I also kept checking things online like a good little boy in the 21st Century.
Eventually, I figured sleeping would be more exciting and turned in for the night. One ritual of motel beds was keenly observed. I always pull the bedding out from being folded under the mattress, so it's all in a big clump that I can then fit around me. Pathetically perhaps, maybe it's just a bigger version of a sleeping bag? I fell asleep peacefully.
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