Work from home day

7:30 am

My dreams gave me a hard time last night, showed me strangers, disconnections, missed cues and no satisfaction. I woke frequently and aborted my plan to get up at 5 am. Some biting insect found me in my bed too. Four itchy bumps on my right buttock. It's December, right? I'm going to take a walk. 

I take a walk. 

It's a humid morning that feels more like late May or early June - like Spring - than it does  the first day of December. In the aftermath of someone else's tropical storm which ushered through strong winds last night, the Western subdivision's residents will be picking up their toppled and scattered Christmas displays this morning. Their enormous inflatable Santas and snowmen are shrunken and strewn about the lawns and driveways like a massacre. A mother and daughter pull out of their driveway in the family's compact SUV and eye me warily. Their eyes move in unison. A stranger - from around the corner. 

A boisterous German shepherd mix sprints out of their driveway behind them, runs a half-circle and returns. It's tongue is wrapped halfway around it's head, mouth wide open in what looks to me to be a smile. The dog has a particularly frolicsome bounce to it's running. The jubilation of transgression. I recognize her as an escapee.

She runs up to within 20 feet of me and then away when I acknowledge her. This continues as I walk the crescent. Each time she comes in a little closer. And each time I get a little more animated in my response. She's cautious at first, as am I, but within three repetitions we are in play mode together. I'm starting to wonder if she plans to come home with me, when another family's compact SUV makes it's way out of a long driveway from a secluded house to the street. The dog stops, tongue lolling. The driver calls her. The dog looks at me as I'm starting to fade into the distance. 

Go home, kid. That's where you belong. I'm just a hobo, honey, a pobresito, see? All you can hope for with me is dry store brand food and maybe a Hostess cupcake at Christmas, if we're flush. Go back to your palace, princess. I'm no good for you.

I walk out onto the main road alone then take a left up the hill into the Eastern subdivision. There's a pair of toddler mittens on the roadside. A couple plays with two dogs on their tidy green and leafless genetically engineered lawn. I imagine walking up and talking to them about some of the things I've been reading lately like Leave the Leaves, an article making the case for pollinator habitat and against ornamental and essentially lifeless lawns. That's not me though. I don't do things like that. 

I walk another crescent. At the last house before returning to the main road, three dogs assemble at the edge of the fence to bark wildly at me. They are apparently restrained by something invisible and electronic because no physical barrier exists between us and they seem to harbor a collective will to tear me to pieces. 

When the first dog started barking, the one with the deepest voice, I felt self conscious. Spot lit, like a cat burglar caught in the act. When the other two joined in - three different breeds and sizes and their resulting cacophony - I felt the roles reverse. 

I'm not a freak, you fuckers. You're the freakin' freaks !!!

Back on the main road, my nerves are a little jangled. A dump truck blows by just a couple of feet to my left. The next time I look up, my eyes come to rest on a human form. A lovely human form. She is dressed in slippers and wearing an ankle length satin robe. She has come out for the morning newspaper. I have never seen her before. She waves shyly, not expecting to run into anyone. Her dark eyes are soft and warm. Direct. I feel a slowness take over me. 

I am not moving or speaking. She holds her hand out to me. Now, I can move again. I walk the few steps until I am beside her. We are holding hands now and walking slowly toward her house. It doesn't feel at all like the first day of December. It feels like Spring. 

Later...

At home, I was feeling like something of a man. I decided December 1st was exactly the right time to clean the gutters. I fetched the 40 foot ladder from the side of the house. The ladder, like me, had been lying on it's side for the past two years. I managed to raise it, only stepping on the rope and cursing twice, without major incident. The gutters were jam packed with fermenting pine needles. The little bit of liquid at the bottom must have been turpentine or gin. There were thick stalks of weeds that had since withered and toppled. And several varieties of saplings I thought might require a saw before I could remove them. 

I started at the back of the house and made my way around to the front, which is a little higher. I felt no fear or apprehension climbing up or working at the top of the ladder which was unusual because I've been afraid of heights all my life. Almost had to abandon my car on the 59th Street Bridge once, but that's not happening today. 

I saw my silver hair and the bags under my eyes reflected in the picture window as I climbed past. Neither of those particular attributes were as pronounced the last time I passed this way and saw that reflection. But I was pretty impressed by the surety of the man's steps as he climbed. His work boots completely masking his rank amateur status. 

At one point, nearly finished and standing at the top of the ladder, I stretched far to my left to get the last handful of organic matter. The ladder slid an inch or two in that direction too. Just then, the volunteer ambulance happened to be passing by. They slowed  down to watch me. I could see the two young EMTs, probably hopped up on Rock Star energy drinks, watching me like vultures with broad white smiles from behind their black paramilitary shades. They were undoubtedly betting on what kinds of fractures they'd be treating me for five minutes from now. But that did not come to pass.