Strange Days

This place is strange. The sailing, the tennis, the nearly nightly meet-ups for barbecues and cocktails. Everyone is retired. Are you retired? they ask me. No, I say. But then I have to add, But I’m not working. I left my job at the library, and I’m not sure the libraries up here will have a place for me except as a volunteer.

The little library downtown has a staff of two, both only part-time. At my first volunteer shift the director shows me the checkout procedure. The checkout procedure is: scan the book and then handstamp the due date on the back. I am flabbergasted. When was the last time I saw someone use a handstamp at a library? 1989? 

I head home, still trying to puzzle it out. Walk the dog, and a wild animal streaks past. A fox? Is that a fox? It’s adorable, and also, scary, and neither the dog or I have time to react before it’s on the other side of the road, disappearing into the woods. Through the trees the lake is moving, the waves pushing to the south. 

It’s a north wind, a local tells me. That means the water will be warmer. Why? He goes into a long explanation. Is there an App for that? I ask him, and he squints at me like I have two heads. 

App? Just go out and look at the lake.

The lady next door asks me if I play Mahjong. 

No.   

Do you want to learn?

Not particularly. But I show up to play, which turns out to mean, not playing, but watching other people play. What I learn is that Mahjong is a very complicated game. After two hours of watching, I am no closer to playing. I don’t even know if I can explain what I am watching. Something about building a wall of tiles and matching the tiles to one of the many patterns on a card. The card looks like ancient hieroglyphics. Bam! one of the ladies will say as she throws down a tile. Or, Crack! 

They explain things to me as they play, and I keep responding, Oh, or Okay, when really, I have no idea what is going on. 

East! one of the women shouts. Flower! 

Really. What the hell is going on? Meanwhile, back in Ohio, there’s a massive windstorm that blows through our old neighborhood, knocking down trees and leaving nearly everyone I know without power. A former neighbor sends me a video of our former yard, the flowers I planted flattened, water gushing down the street. Why am I here and not there? 

The dog wakes me up in the middle of the night. I half stumble with her out into the dark, kicking myself for not grabbing a flashlight. What if there’s a fox streaking across the yard. Or a fisher cat. Someone told us about those, adding that it’s not a cat and they don’t have anything to do with fish. So why is it called a fisher cat? One more thing I don't understand. 

While the dog does her urgent business in the yard, I look up at the night sky and gasp. I have literally never seen so many stars in my entire life. What is this place? 

And how have I found myself in it, the dark trees, the lake moving to the north or to the south, and no way of knowing until morning? 

The lake, mostly still

This book is due soon

Apparently, this is a fisher cat!