January 13, 2011

  • “He died as he lived…”

    Greyfox and I were conversing via his Bluetooth and my not-so-hi-tech headset this morning.  He was outside, retrieving cats’ feeding dishes and other objects that had blown off his porch.  It’s another windy day in Wasilla.

    A sudden increase in the wind noise from his microphone signaled that he had stepped away from the relative shelter of his cabin.  It became evident which way he had gone when he started talking about what he was seeing in the dumpster.  He said there was a lot of interesting-looking stuff, and apparently, some other dumpster diver had already been there, tearing open trash bags.

    Then I heard a few grunts of effort and sounds indicating physical exertion.  Greyfox explained that he was having to manipulate trash bags one-handed as he held the lid open with the other.  The wind was threatening to blow the lid shut on him.

    Immediately, I was all, “Be careful, Darlin’!  Those lids are heavy,” at the same time he was telling me that the lid was heavy.  We both started laughing, and went on talking over each other, speculating about the possible outcome of his having a dumpster slammed shut on him.

    Occasionally, one or the other of us has the other on the line as a sort of remote ground support when we’re engaged in some hazardous activity, such as when I’m shoveling snow from the roof here.  We’ve speculated in the past about having to explain to a 911 operator that we’re reporting an emergency that has occurred fifty miles away.

    Between grunts and guffaws, he told me, in the event of catastrophe, to log onto zoklet (a bb site where he moderates several forums) and report that he had died doing what he loved.  I said, “Yeah: ‘He died as he lived — dumpster diving.’”  That brought a guffaw from Doug, who had been giving me puzzled looks as he listened to my laughter on this end of the conversation.

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