wow, nothing like a fifty-mile an hour, freezing east wind to make the end of the season welcome. the pipes froze (again) and finally i had to throw my clothes over my feet despite two heaters running. my dreams rather sad accounts of suffering people, which i should have expected. my fingertips freezing on the keys even with another heater going by my chair. and i had been feeling melancholy about closing up two weeks earlier than in past years.
i wonder how other lookouts feel about closing. i look at their faces on facebook and they don't seem really happy. life on the flatland much more confusing, certainly more noisy. i get so used to the silence and the wind in trees, i feel rather desperate when i hit the pavement to live among so many other people. usually, though they give us laughter and company, other folks add a lot of confusion to my life. too many thoughts circle around pleasing and being pleased.
it's not like i have complete solitude, not with three telephones and two radios. tourists do visit to check out the view. when fires happen, the radios crackle and hundreds jump into action. then i am part of a team, plenty of company there. and i do have days off. alas, on those days i feel mostly stunned, moving like a zombie, only livening up when i return to the tower. up here, i can avoid biziness for it's own sake. a visit to movie can slow me down. being part of an audience does something for me even the tower doesn't.
even up here everything i own demands an obligation. computers want to be work, books to be read, musical instruments to be played. if i don't put them to use i feel guilty. i suspect other people feel overwhelmed by their possessions. a garage full of stuff, a storage space, drawers and closets to be cleaned. whatever we own gives us a sense of identity, and at the same time we have to make sure that identity clean and tidy, acceptable to ourselves and our neighbors. i keep trying to get rid of stuff, yet little things like books keep creeping back. everything gets heavy.
once again, i've bought a ticket to mexico. this lightens my load to two small carry-ons and that's a relief. i've reserved simple places to stay. if i don't have a plan, the end of the season can be disastrous. one year i simply wanted to jump off the cliff below the lookout. that was rather scary. i do need someplace to go, something to look forward to. one 83 year old lookout goes to a small town in western australia to stay with a friend. another hooks up her little trailer to head south. others hibernate in their houses, waiting patiently (or not), for next year. nothing, i think, can really can replace your glass cabin on top of a mountain.
good luck to all you arranging your visage to live in the world. and welcome back when next season arrives!
