Heat

 By Maryanna Gabriel

This is the view from my deck. Lucky me. It is supposed to be the cool time at dawn. Normally it is temperate. Normally. 

Already, I have managed a few forays with watering and laundry and already I need to yield. The air is like soup, and not the thin kind. It feels as though I am inside a plastic bag. No air. Half of western North America is suffering with this record breaking dome of heat. One of my science fiction novels about the future seems to be coming true. I cannot imagine trying to wait in a ferry line up right now let alone negotiate travel of any kind. 

 It is the still point around which the day revolves. 

The Tell Tale Dectector

 By Maryanna Gabriel


"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity."
- Edgar Allan Poe

 

                                                                                                     
As the lumberyard rises from the ashes, I am remembering my father scaring us to death by reading Edgar Allan Poe's, "The Tell Tale Heart" right before bedtime and then pulsing the flashlight through the orange curtain after he said goodnight until my brother, sister and I screamed for mercy. 

Which brings me to my hallway, speaking of screaming. I have a smoke detector that beeped through online zoom classes. Sometimes if I adjusted it's location it would stop, but at critical junctures of conversation it would start up again. It has been driving me batty.

I frantically searched for a manual and could not find one. The alarm was wired in and cost a lot of money to put into place. Was. Notice the verb tense. The day came when I had to do a presentation and silence was a priority. With firm resolution I got my snips and cut. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. That will stop you. If I die in a fire I will just have to deal with it later." The logic of this might need some work. 

Lo. It continued to beep. How is this possible? I hid it under the couch. Could still hear it. Into the depths of the underwear drawer. Could still hear it. I got out a magnifying glass and read the fine print on it's little chirping underbelly. A battery. Of course. But why? Over the battery cover it says DO NOT REMOVE BATTERY or  COVER WILL NOT FASTEN. I briefly considered drowning the thing in a bucket of water. 

As I see it there is no choice, it is in the shed on the farthest reach of the property, still chirping its relentless heart out. I have not solved the problem though. Wires dangle in the middle of the hall. Somehow the smoke detector has to go back on. All very Poe. 

Salt Spring Lumberyard Burned

 By Maryanna Gabriel 


Our lumberyard burned. I slept through the fire engines. I am just up the hill and can hear Ganges noises well. But I have been tired, coming out of sessions in two writing schools with homework to prepare for a residency this week.

So when I got up to catch a ferry at dawn I was totally unprepared. When I saw the scene with smoke pouring out of the roof, I gasped and grabbed my heart. It was a shock. Apparently there were huge explosions as the paint went up. With the fumes, the fire just roiled along the building roof. It was unstoppable. 

In such a brief time, so much can change.

Tonight I went to take a closer look and Windsor Plywood is manned with a security guard. It is to preserve the integrity of the scene for insurance purposes. Islanders were driving by to see for themselves. About every five minutes people were stopping to stare or chat. The lumberyard is a fixture and to have that fixture gone, well, it rocks the community. Of course, the owners are already working double time with a temporary office. A tent is coming so the trades can keep going.

I was wondering if I would still get my account bill. Yup. I checked. It came in the mailbox today. Guess I better pay it lickety-split.