EDMOND — I fixed myself a tall icy drink, dug out my sunglasses, pulled on my favorite shorts and tied the strings of my halter in place. With the morning paper in hand I padded barefoot out onto the back patio where I plunked myself down on the chaise lounge. Mmm, I thought, this is nice.
The oak trees I’d had pruned last fall were lush green, their branches swaying in a balmy breeze. A saucy fat bumblebee hovered above the budding trumpet vine that climbs my back fence, and feisty little birds twittered a greeting from the bamboo fronds where they were building their nests.
I took a long cooling drink from my ice-clinking glass and dabbed at the sweat on my upper lip. Then, hoping for news of a break in the heat wave, I opened the paper to the weather map. “Oh, sure,” I scoffed at the 20-degree forecast. “Must be a misprint.”
I groaned my way through the advice columns until I’d had my fill of how Grandma and Grandpa met, and which of their descendants deserved an inheritance. You know how that goes. B.O.R.I.N.G. I was on the verge of nodding off when here came those pesky mosquitoes.
I folded the paper into a swatter and dropped one with the first whack. It left a mosquito smear blurring my horoscope, but I barely noticed. In that split second before the splat, I’d been shocked into reality by the date at the top of the page — Jan. 16, 2007!
Goose bumps popped out all over my body. Unbending my frozen joints, I managed to separate myself from the lounge and plow my way through drifted sleet to the back door.
“Heat,” I chattered through blue lips. “Give me heat.”
I’d been immersed in a hot bubbly bath nearly an hour before I thawed out enough to realize I’d survived a near-terminal case of the dreadful cabin fever. You probably had it, too. It’s an anti-social disease, but no one’s immune.
Your garage door is frozen shut and sleet drifts clog your driveway. You not only can’t get your car out, but you also can’t get your self out either. You missed the trash pick-up, and garbage is piled high. Then just when the ice on your eaves can’t get any thicker, the sky opens up and here comes more.
At a time like this it’s good if you like yourself because that’s about all you’ve got, unless there’s a spouse to help fill the void … re-kindle a flame … rehash old grudges … share a favorite book … rehash old grudges … listen to music … rehash old grudges. Into the second week of enforced isolation even Eden gets old.
Other than that, there’s the phone and e-mail, but nothing’s been happening so there’s nothing to talk/write about. You could ramble on to your dog/cat, but be careful. They’re cabin-bound, too. Things could get ugly. Your best bet is to take a nap. Above all, stay off the back patio.
My delusions had dissipated by the time I stepped out of the tub into my fuzzy shoes and pulled on my woolly bathrobe. I was bundled up in bed sipping hot chocolate when I noticed the newspaper on the end table where I’d dropped it, still folded back to my horoscope. Not a trace of mosquito smear remained.
“Hmm,” I mused as I read the Gemini entry: “Don’t be afraid of what lies beyond the bend in the road.” Good advice, I thought as I clicked on the weather channel, but not if it’s snowing there, too.
(Marjorie Anderson is an Edmond resident.)
Features
Daydreaming, thinking of warmth
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Operating on feelings can be catastrophic
