Thirst and Ashes

08/08/2017 by syrbal-labrys


I carried my bathwater to dying plants in the front garden today. The agonizingly slow process of getting a new well approved, not to mention actually drilled and working, continues.  I bathe less often and take hasty 3 minute showers instead – and not even those daily.  The dying well falters if three people in a row try to shower.  I must allow a full hour at least between washer loads.  But MY problems with this time ARE small, first world issues.  Others in my state can die as a result of these conditions.

Our air quality, in spite of the news pronouncing it “all better in time for Seafair Weekend” in Seattle, is not all better.  The sky has been ashen white for over a week now and headaches and coughing are the bare minimum cost of more than two minutes out of doors.  That photo is not the partially eclipsed full moon – that was not visible here in the USA.  That is the full moon tinted a premature jack-o-lantern orange by the amount of crud in the air last night.  There was the merest hint of actual blue in the eastern sky this morning – now vanished again.  I hope perhaps in another week to be able to go outside without feeling my chest seize and grasping for a handfast against faintness.

The heat, the wood-smoked air, the fear of the water simply stopping as the county makes us jump through so many costly hoops – in spite of deeming our need for a new well an “emergency” situation TWO YEARS AGO – it takes us all down.  An exhausted sort of slow-motion panic bubbles in all our heads.  It freezes the Minotaur and turns me into a nagging shrew trying to move him back to action.  None of the neighbors will help us with the lengthy process, two of the four suggesting we will be lucky if they help PAY for the new well.  One has consistently fought the process all along (well, for about 20 years of bad water issues now), and the dread of constantly engaging in verbal combat with him makes us reluctant even under pressure and thirst.

I wait for water.  I wait to inhale without pain.  Wildfires in Canada continue to turn my summer sky white — my real fear is that this will be EVERY summer from now on, as the Agent Orange in Chief goes on denying climate change that fuels the fires.  This is why I could never consider magical action “calling” for wildfire — it is called wild for a reason; it is a destroyer unanswerable to reason or command.

I am by nature an indefatigable “fixer”.  I attack problems methodically.  Sometimes I fall down in exhaustion and despair, but so far?  Sooner or later I always get back up and remount life’s ramparts.  I don’t believe in fixing through destruction unless I know how to build back what I tear down.  Every year now, my world seems to catch fire.  Ignoring this is at our peril.  That orange moon is no better than the Agent Orange in the White House, even if it is noticeably more photogenic.

 

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Herland

The name of this blog, and my Dreamwidth blog, Herlander Refugee, is taken from a 1915 feminist novel "Herland". It makes my heart sing that modern women are experimenting with creation of a new "Herland"! Yes, comments are closed. Anyone who just MUST reach me can do so at syrbal6 at gmail dot com.

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