The calendar hints at the nearness of my seven-year anniversary as a Delta resident. I feel the passage of time. Milestones slip by. A former spouse dies; my son visits; my oldest brother and his long-time partner marry. Muscles and bones ache a bit more each morning.
The heater in my tiny house kicks into gear with its humming motor. I had not even realized that the dial sat just at the edge of activation. A glance at the small house thermometer confirms the seeping sear of cold around me. Soon the Delta winds and the biting rain will grip our island. I gave away my rain coat in favor of a long black silk thing that a friend passed along. I have no idea if it will repel water. But I anticipate looking like Alice B. Toklas as I wrap a scarf around my neck and pull a felt hat over my brow. Pity that I’m straight. I could play opposite Gertrude Stein quite well, though only in the grey of winter when I could layer folds of flannel and wrap myself in wool.
The carpenter who moved my house to California brought it here on the 10th of November. My vehicle and I arrived with bags and baggage five weeks later. People keep asking me, how long have you been here? and now I must admit: Seven years. It took me twelve more months to close out my cases in Missouri and stay full-time. But I will always think of autumn as my anniversary.
The egrets herald the impending arrival of the cranes and geese. I’ve seen that first flock, sweeping high and wide across the steely sky. Their raucous song reaches me long before the sight of them and I stand, mesmerized, as they ride the air. My feet seem to be welded to the cold ground beneath them. Envy rises in my breast. Earthbound, I can only guess at what they see from the loft that carries them. I watch as they move into the middle of the island, where I know they will settle for the night. As the golden rays stream across the horizon, bright against the trees and the roof of our marina, I sigh, and take myself inside.
It’s the thirtieth day of the one-hundred and thirtieth month(fn) of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.
(fn) There have been a lot of entries over the years in which I have misstated how long my quest to live without complaining has been. I started on 01 January 2014. It is now 30 October 2024. That is 10 years and ten months — making this the one-hundred and thirtieth month. My apologies for any times when I have misstated that duration. I lost at least three years along the way: 2014 and 2015 nearly undid me; and we all lost 2020. But I officially calculated the duration at my favorite site for doing so and I can confirm its accuracy.