verge (vʉrj)
the edge, brink, or margin (of something): also used figuratively the verge of the forest, on the verge of hysteria

to tend or incline (to or toward)
to be in the process of change or transition into something else; pass gradually (into) dawn verging into daylight

Sunday, October 4, 2009

A Truck, a Furnace, Some Sky, and a Pair of Boots.

Today the weather was ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...just so oh-oh-oh.

I was in New Hampshire visiting Diane for the afternoon and the landscape was incredible.  New Hampshire in the fall can be nearly perfect if the weather is just right and today it was just that.  I am not able to describe just how beautiful it was because I would only wreck it by trying so I am left to just leave it to a sigh.

It had been the kind of week that leaves a bit of an aftertaste.  I had a couple presentations and I was short on time at all turns.  To add to the fun, a big grizzly truck clobbered my innocent little car (my innocent little new car) and hit it with enough force that my innocent little new car now needs a new back end and probably a new side panel.  It might actually be easier to list what it doesn't need.  But no one was hurt and the big truck was driven by a very nice and honest man, for which I am grateful, if not inconvenienced.  Ahem...

And then the furnace joined in my fun and for one morning refused to produce hot water.  Believe me--I'm not a furnace guy.  I venture down into the basement cautiously, admittedly because I'm still a little unsure about whether the boogie man exists or not.  And when I get down there, I'm not always entirely convinced I know which gizmo is actually the furnace but I know that when there's no hot water, it involves machinery in the basement.  By some stroke of luck, I identified the appropriate equipment and followed the directions posted on its front.  Voila! Noise!  I stood back--in fact I got way across the basement and cowered in case I had just pressed the Blow Up button and then, seeing we would survive, I called my furnace people.  They are coming to check things out but in the mean time, that button trick got the whole rig moving again and we have hot water, for which I am grateful.

In the midst of all this, I happened to pull on my cowboy boots and wore them to everything--my presentations, my dog walks, my Corolla accidents.  I thought I was wearing them to look smart. I'm not sure how they made me look but I can tell you this:  you can cop one heck of an attitude if you wear them.  And that's what happened. They could hear me comin' alright,  and I didn't get lip from anyone.  Even the dogs were a little more serious when we walked.  These boots meant business and somehow in spite of the sideshows, I got through all the presentations and meetings, for which I am grateful.

And then I got to this day.  As I started to say, the ride to and from New Hampshire was beautiful.  The combination of colorful leaves, the sky, the granite, the weathered shakes--beyond words.  My time with Diane--very dear.  We sorted papers and did some recycling which, in New Hampshire, is painstakingly detailed.  As I drove home, I got to just look again at the view.  I felt so comfortable all of a sudden.  My car (yes, the innocent little new car is drivable) seemed to fit on the road just right.  I fit in the car just right.  The trip fit into my day just right.  The way the landscape fit against the sky--just right.  I can't say why exactly because all my circumstances were exactly the same as they had been, but everything seemed to be the right size, the right shape, and the right time, for which I am grateful.

As I drove along, I looked down and checked my feet.  No cowboy boots. Go figure.

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