Friday, June 14, 2013

The best laid plans.

The night before we were to leave:
New batteries in Maglite.
Swiss Army knife honed.
Wooly socks all in a row.
Camera battery charged... lens error.
In it's eagerness, it hums and beeps and won't retract.

I wish for a life more organic. For machinery that is self healing. After a smear of something, a kind word, some rest, all is well again. Or for the days when machinery was simpler. The days when our gardener, Samuel, kept the lawn mower going with a piece of wire.
When spit was an ingredient that worked.
When pantyhose could stand in for a fan belt.

A time when enterprising men made cameras out of cardboard and cotton reels.

Photograph via
Sometimes it only takes one small thing to unzipper the teeth of God. Take my good friend Mr Owl's fishing trip. Everything was going swimmingly until the starboard motor's throttle broke. As they drifted, Mr Owl and his friend heard the other fishermen bragging about their wonderful catches.
They finally made it back to shore, only to find a baboon in the front seat of the car, eating their lunch. Mr Owl's friend grabbed a stick to hit the baboon. The baboon got such a big fright that he shat all over the seat. The stick shattered without maiming anyone - it was riddled with fire ants. And so Mr Owl and his friend sat in rush hour traffic, itching and scratching. No fish for the pan.

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