Life, man, what a ride!
On the couch, we’re obviously getting better at it. Learning that some things that appear to be a catastrophe today won’t even be a neuron spark in the memory banks in a week, month or year. Or too punch drunk by life’s curveballs to get all exercised about things.
For example, I was only mildly startled at the racket the ceiling made when it caved in last week after the rain. The pooches scattered, then slowly followed me to see what calamity had struck.
Only a smallish part had dropped. The rest collapsed while I was on the way to get the broom to clear away the first lot. Saved me a second walk to the kitchen and what could have been quite sore if we had been standing there, staring upwards, when the sky fell on our heads.
Thanks to not being so agile, it’s all pushed out of sight into a heap on the other side of the room.
When more rain clouds gathered post-collapse, I figured we were fine because all we needed was a bucket to catch the drops. And find a new monkey highway to the food in the backyard jungle so they don’t displace the tiles in their scampering.
I keep meaning to Google a roof repair person.
There’s so much to be anxious about, like electricity, rates, interest and food prices and paying the bills, that there’s no real room in my head for anything else.
It brought to mind a recent random thought – it came to me while my head was seeking silence at the bottom of a bubble-filled bath – about how our lives could be compared to living in a waterfall.
Being alive is a precious gift. Just as it would be if we all lived in a waterfall, surrounded by life-giving water, trees, flowers, birds and butterflies. Wonderful earthy smells and, for this to work as a philosophy, temperate. Wildlife, even monkeys, stopping by to quench their thirst.
However, sometimes the river that feeds your waterfall of life throws up challenges.
For instance, the municipal infrastructure collapses above you and chucks some seriously nasty stuff your way. This is not the time to follow the admonition to “suck it up, buttercup”. Better to hold your breath while telling yourself “this too shall pass”. Unless, of course, our city “leaders” cleave their lard-arses to their power benches and continue as is, doing zilch, and certainly not their jobs.
The river could also lob a log over the brink, causing bodily harm, and then you’re in the dwang. Even if you are one of the fortunate few with a decent medical aid. But if you have to vacate your residence for state care, you’re on the rocks, pal, no boat and no paddle. It may be better for your health to hope for some sewage to suck up.
In floods, you have to find a spot to learn how to cling to home like moss and in droughts, well, just look in your empty wallets to see how that feels.
Whatever. All we need is a cheap but reputable roof repair person. Or a big umbrella until this is over and tranquillity settles over our waterfall.
- Lindsay Slogrove is the news editor