So I had had a bit of wine

I was watching TiVo, waiting for Sam to come home (if I were a worthy soul I would hyperlink the TiVo and mention that it was the new Drew Carey improv show, with the dogs next to me and the pleasant surprise that it was not drek)

So I was watching TiVo, and I heard a sound that could have been the dishwasher having a problem, or the heating system having a problem, or the stove exhaust system with a hairball, or something much more interesting at the neighbors (such a thin partition away). I followed the sound waves, aware as always that I am getting older, that my ears never bring me to any concrete conclusions about the tree that houses the bird, the direction of the siren, the location of the recently shocking BANG!

I opened the back door, and the sound was the suddenly insistent rain, ringing on the cast iron spiral staircase and the braind new copper waterspout installed by the crazy neighbors who have a gift for the extraordinary and irrelevant. And you could stand there, in the rain that made it necessary to work the bees on Sunday, and hear the sound crescendo up and down, BRAVURA and piano, basso and soprano. AND be so glad.

I wish I could remember the train of thought that brought me to the wondering about choices,and about fixing the power over one's life to the most clearly promixate wonder, but I have had one glass of wine too many, and even as I had the jolt of illumination about what seems like the heater but is in fact the rhythim of the heavens having something to do with the specific gravity of iron versus copper -- I knew I would never be able to write it down, to tell myself or anyone else abotu how the wonders are wonders within gorgeous wonders that occur because of rain and late husbands and spiral staircases and the choices you make about whether to open the door and stand in the wet, or decide (only one tiny degree of personal experience away) that you already know what the weird noise was. And pour another glass.