We're Safe

I guess we’re at that point here in Vermont where we no longer have to fear being buried by a foot-and-a-half of snow. I mean, hey, it’s past Memorial Day.

We spend much of the spring very weary of the gray and sparse nature of things. One of the things that strikes me every year, especially in late-spring and early-summer, is how quickly things green-up and grow here. It’s as if all this plant life seems to know just how little time it has, so it grows very, very consciously, purposefully, and with an astonishing vengeance. The landscape that I implore in April to “grow, already” I am cursing in June as I drag out the brush cutter and weed trimmer for the umpteenth time.

Anyway, I put the snow shovel in the basement this weekend, mailed my final check to the snowplow guy, and crossed my fingers.

Hmmm...

So I’m standing at the bathroom sink last night getting ready for bed and, for no reason I can fathom, the name “Kurt Vonnegut” pops into my head. I have not thought about him, nor had his name pop into my head, in years — probably a decade or more — nor would I have any reason to.

And I think, what must he be up to? Seriously, I spent about ten minutes thinking about this guy and what his daily routine must be as what I assumed is a “retired” or “elderly” writer. How does he spend his days? What does he think about? And so on…

It was a curous set of thoughts; I waded through them, and then, just as quickly as they came, I let them pass.

Then, this morning when I got to the office, this:

“Influential Author Vonnegut Dies at 84”

I may have some set of undefined special powers. I must explore this further…

Anyway, I met him once, a little over 20 years ago. He spoke at my university, and agreed to do a “meet-and-greet” immediately afterward. For some reason, I was the first one to show up, and we had a few minutes of inconsequential chitchat (and an autograph) before the horde found the room. It was special to me.

So it goes.