Backstory

The definition says backstory is the happening in a fictional plot that lead up to current action. My backstory is real life. For this Thursday writing to happen, events began in February. You have like stories that start with a battery dying, news from a doctor’s appointment, even a happy event like a marriage. This saga begins in February with the Freezicane.

As you know, life was pleasant personally because I was rescued by an adult child with a generator. When I returned home, three events needed rectifying. A major component in the sprinkler system had burst. For this the water had been turned off at its specific valve and it required the experts coming to replace – money expended and no long wait. Second, a tankless hot water heater exposed to the elements burst and spewed before I remembered its existence. All inputs were turned off. It just has to wait its turn with my family plumber. Immediate repair was necessary only if I invited you to stay in the garage apartment and you wanted a hot shower. Life could move on.

The last event was aesthetic appearance that defined the freeze all over Houston. A fence that marked the forty feet at the end of my yard had been been covered since who knows when with green fig vine, requiring only to be sheared every spring like a trip to the hairdresser. Now, along with other fences, houses, towering buildings, and freeways it was dead to the roots. The brown appearance created a war torn visual experience.

In a mood of “i can do this!” I began pulling and clipping off the dead vine, thinking I would just have an uncovered fence. The uncovering was scary. The aging fence within my lot was rotten boards painted green except where my lot didn’t match the lots on the next street down. Those were brown. I was building a pile of dead vegetation and broken boards piled in the corner of the backyard and the city doesn’t collect that kind of trash again until maybe May. I walked around the block to check with my neighbor who was replacing his fence, and I met an angel. He is Mr. Brown with a chain saw, a helper, and a truck.

By 10:00 this Tuesday morning, he had completed my amateur task. The appearance wasn’t quite what I could live with. He scratched his head, scratched with his pencil, and offered a price to replace ugly and broken within my budget. I had not asked, sought, or knocked, and I was taken care of as lagnaippe. i promise not to replace the fig vine.

“And I caused the widow’s heart to sing for joy.” Job 29:13b