Cold ice and warm spring gatherings

On a recent stormy morning I was driving the ridge line to the nearest town, windshield wipers slapping back and forth to the precise beat of what was playing on the car stereo, Steely Dan’s “My Old School.” Each chorus ends with “And I’m never going back to my old school,” an attitudinal approach to which I’ve pretty well adhered, but this month I may change that. My college will be hosting a 50th class reunion gathering at the end of the month and in a moment of unexpected nostalgia I signed up for a luncheon with my fellow old people. Not comfortable in social settings, and with very little small talk to spare, it will certainly be an experience. I’ll report back.

After 25 years of good work, my refrigerator died. I felt no sorrow, as the thing was situated in a spot wherein I could not get to what I once assumed was one of life’s necessities, ice cubes. Because I don’t use it that often it was more than a day before I realized I needed to toss the six items I had stored inside. With a new fridge in place, I did something I’d not done in a quarter of a century, put ice cubes in a glass, pour a bit of single malt scotch over the top, listen to the ice whisper and crack and, for a little while, breath easy because life was good.

My gosh, the wheels are falling off the world and I’m writing about ice cubes. Sorry. I am a fortunate old man. Life out here has been better than good. The other night a dear friend and I sat on the drive just before dusk and the sounds were all soft, Telemann’s “Tafelmusik” playing through the JBL monitors in the garage, a breeze blowing through the trees, wind chimes made for me by a friend murmuring sweetly from the porch, and soft voices, always voices, reminding me that I still exist.

At the top of my lane last week another sort of gathering took place. Six helmeted Guineas were hanging about, stepping together through the tall grass, enjoying the day. I managed to capture a photo of five of them, while the sixth was a yard or say apart, though it’s more fun to think that she wasn’t in the photo because she was the one with a little bitty camera taking the picture. Invariably I chat with the creatures out here and it was no different with these birds. “Hey, little ones! It’s so nice to see you here!” After posing for their photo, then listening to a crazy man talk, they moved on, disappearing into the woods.

Mother’s Day is upon us and I never quite know what to make of it. My own mother passed when I was in my thirties and now I’m well into my seventies. I have loved two women with all my heart in my life, my wife and my mother, and now both are gone, so there is a profound sadness when these days roll around. One of the last things my mother said aloud has stayed with me: from a deep unconscious state in her last days she said, very clearly, “Mom, why are you standing so far away?” You see, when she was a young child her own mother was committed to what they used to call an “insane asylum.” A place where she died in 1956. Heartbreaking stuff. So, if you love your mother, or anyone for that matter, tell them, on this day and all days.

Kurt Ullrich lives in rural Jackson County. The Dubuque Telegraph Herald recently published a 60-page magazine of Kurt’s columns. The magazine can be purchased here

Note: This column was corrected to reflect the birds were helmeted Guineas. Thanks to a sharp-eyed reader.