The caretaker started his morning with his traditional routine with a twist. He rose as the pre-dawn light opened the sky. Remembering to stretch his calves, he stepped down to the first floor easier than in the past two days. As the day brightened, the coffee was perked; the orange, the size of a grapefruit, was divided into eighths; and the cereal was drowned in skim milk. As the coffee maker completed its cycle, he filled the can of birdseed and hoisted the bucket of peanuts and opened the front door.
As he entered the brisk air, he stood motionless for a moment as his ears rang with the morning chorus. The loon was given the first aria in the concert. The position of the loon was not a surprised since the whole loon section practiced all night. They were greeting each other like a “ladies who lunch” event that had not met for six months. Lady Lake hosted the event with dignity and satisfaction. After the solo, the 25 – 30 voice chorus took on the composition. It still amazed the caretaker that in the morning stillness there could be such a dynamic sound.
After the spreading the birdseed, the sound of the five handfuls of peanuts dropping to the deck confirmed that this part of the morning was complete. The caretaker returned to the relative warmth of the cabin, shaking off the chill that started seeping into his skin. Like a typical Minnesotan, he never puts on a coat; he simply goes out into the mid-30 degrees in his shirt that is still holding onto the bed-warmth. After returning the peanut bucket and the birdseed can to their resting place, the caretaker settles into rest of the morning routine, reading the paper and eating breakfast at the front window.
There was the twist to the routine- reading the paper. It was always easier to read the paper on the computer screen when he wears his reading glasses. All settled at the computer, he reached for the glasses. “They’re not there. Humph.” He got up and headed to the kitchen table looking for his glasses. “They’re not there. Humph.” He walked around the table to the kitchen counter, looking. “They’re not there. Humph.” He looked again at the kitchen table, more carefully this time. “They’re not there. Humph.” Back to the desk by the front window, he looked in detail. “They’re not there. Humph.” “Time to try to reconstruct where they could be,” he advised. “Try upstairs in the bedroom.” “They’re not there. Humph.” “Try in the basement.” “They’re not there. Humph.” Try in the laundry room.” “They’re not there. Humph.” “Try the master bedroom.” They’re not there. “Humph.”
Unlike a cell phone, you can’t call a pair of glasses. Feeling helpless, the caretaker rethought about the previous day. “Where the hell would I have laid down those glasses?” His proclivity to stubbornness kicked in. “I’m going to find those G-D glasses.” The morning routine was definitely broken. He searched each possible location in the cabin one more time. They’re not there. “Humph.” Finally, he reflected on the tasks of the previous day. “I straightened the kitchen table and desk. Perhaps, I put the glasses with everything else I removed.” “They’re not there. Humph.” In disgust, he sat down at the neatly arranged kitchen table pondering the forgetfulness of an inattentive mind. He gazed over to the side of the table. There was a reading glass holder. He opened the holder and to his humiliation, he saw the reading glasses.
He smiled; he laughed at himself; and he reflected on the fact that he was looking for the glasses, not where the glasses might be. He reminded himself of the truth, “You see what you expect to see which keeps you from seeing.”
Tags: Crosslake, Crosslake cabin, Minnesota, Minnesota cabin, Personal journal
