I had to use the windshield wipers this morning. It was a thrill. We’ve had no reason to turn on wipers for quite a while. True, it rained yesterday, but that was during the sort of storm that sets off the city’s emergency sirens. The worst of it missed us this time, for which we are grateful, but thousands in town are without power, as are traffic lights at some busy intersections, and broken branches are strewn hither and yon on people’s lawns.
Sue and I had ample opportunity to take in the sights today, as we made our way across town to the shopping mall. We’d planned to walk outdoors as usual, but it rained with fervor this morning, and with thunder and lightning, too.
The thing about trying to get anywhere in town this summer is, construction. It’s everywhere, including main thoroughfares. The city has deployed so many detour signs that we even saw one advising cyclists of a detour in the bike lane. We nearly despaired of reaching our destination, and this is a town we both know well.
The situation was so extreme that we had to laugh at how well it parallels life at our age. Here we are, doing things we’ve always done, not to mention the best we can, and they’re turning out differently. Sue took a single dose of a prescribed medicine last week, and it hit her so hard that she promptly fainted and fell. Her family insisted on a trip to the ER.
A fact about an ER visit is that, even if you have an informed explanation about how you ended up there, the dedicated staff are duty-bound to rule out other possible reasons for your symptoms that might kill you, before they can take action based on your explanation. You understand the process, and it’s grueling, the whole experience leaving you bewildered.
With the best will in the world, and having done nothing stupid, it still feels like hitting detours all over town.
It took a long time, but we did finally arrive at the mall, which generously opens its doors to walkers before the stores open for business. We window-shopped as we walked, which resulted in culture shock for both of us. I recently donated a tennis skirt to the Thrift Shop. It was sold not as athletic wear, but as a regular skirt.
In the windows of mall stores catering to teens, we saw skirts that made my tennis skirt look long. Dowdy, even. A number of skirts were short enough that, if the wearer sat down, there would be no skirt fabric between her and the chair. Some were tiny. They didn’t look long enough for the wearer to walk in without exposing her underwear or her bottom. Have some respect for yourself, girls—this is TMI.
Another store window featured a dress that was exceedingly modest, but looked as if it were constructed of brown rags. Sue commented that it looked like something out of Charles Dickens.
Then she mentioned that, pursuant to her ER visit, she was wearing a heart monitor. I hope it notes episodes of laughter, as there were many. Laughter’s good for ails you. When we left the mall, it was still pouring rain. There was still thunder and lightning. And there were still obstacles all over town.
At a construction site on the south side of town, my sweetheart and I saw a grinder at work. The wooded site had months ago been denuded of every tree, and the trees were long gone. Now the grinder was chewing up what was left, the woody, gnarled roots still clinging to the dirt. Google says this is called soil milling.
The grinder was industrial sized. The milled dirt then traveled up an angled conveyor belt, at the end of which it fell back to the ground. Dust to dust, as it were.
On Nixon Road, another grinder was at its noisy work. This one, Google says, was an asphalt mill. Its conveyor belt emptied ground-up asphalt into the trailer of an enormous dump truck. The grinder operator started loading from the back of the trailer, and gradually pulled the grinder forward to distribute the load evenly. Then the grinder operator honked twice, signaling the truck driver to move forward till the conveyor belt was once more at the back of the truck trailer, whereupon the grinder operator gave a single honk to let the truck driver know that was far enough.
Like the mills of God, the asphalt mill ground slowly, but it was fascinating to watch. At last, an interesting obstacle.
4 September 2026