Past Images
This was the day before Christmas, 1982. I will not return to Sierracin until the fourth of January. Eleven days free, longer than I have had for 18 years. This time is unplanned and unscheduled. Today I have done much needed work on my neglected little truck, fixing the starter motor so it will start, and the brakes so it would stop. Going has never been its problem, just stopping, and recently starting.
Wednesday it was raining hard, today, Friday, the sky is crystal clear, the rain was blown away by the wind that is blowing hard today. Trees have fallen and other damage has been done. People who wished the rain away now wish the wind away, but when the wind goes, the rain will return and they may wish again.
After getting the truck running and cleaning up, I went by Trader Joe's and headed up to Connie and Stews for dinner. Later I would be going to Julia's for here Christmas Eve gathering.
Dinner had just been completed when the electricity in La Crescenta went out. Candles were lit. The wind continued to blow hard but the house stood firm. The air was sparkling clear, and from this height a brilliant sea of lights spread below all the way to the Pacific, 30 miles away. Occasional blue flashes erupted as electric equipment shorted out. Beautiful, but it was my time to be getting on, so I got into my truck and set off down the hill.
The feel of this small vehicle with brakes that worked well for the first time in years, a little wine to take the edges off, the smell of oil, the just finished work, the clarity of the night, and the wind combined to transport me to my younger days when I drove small cars immoderately fast depending on perfect brakes for my life. This feeling stayed with me for the entire trip to Julia's. It really felt like years ago driving the streets and freeways late into the night.
I stopped at home on the way. The hard blowing wind created a cold harsh atmosphere. The electricity was still off and my front porch light was out. The house was dark and cold. I unlocked the front door and went in. It did not feel like home, it felt, echoed, and smelled like an unoccupied wooden house, like it did when I first took it over and came in at night. I checked the service porch where two white doves perched in a cage, barely visible in the darkness. Their presence seemed mysterious, alien, almost inexplicable. I ran the water in the kitchen sink, its rushing sound echoed through the darkened house, blending with the sound of the wind.
Unusual as they were, these feelings of displacement were detached, almost dreamlike, and not at all disturbing, so I did nothing to dispel them. I regarded them as a unique opportunity to recapture a little of the past and bring it forward into the present.
Upon arrival at Julia's, although her house was closer to what I was used to in the early 70s than anyone else's I now know, the impressions faded. When I returned home the electric service had been restored and lights were on, so the atmosphere could not be recaptured here.