Taking Measure

Today I was measuring the office for some new flooring and my tape measure broke. I could say I broke it; I was using it, but not in any way different from any other time I’ve used it. On its quick return to its housing the end snapped causing the first three inches to split. When that happened it continued to draw itself into the snail-like body of itself, and there it lodged. I couldn’t pull the tape out. It was defunct, leaving me holding a heavy, useless thing, and my measuring incomplete. It seemed emblematic.

I have been doing a lot of measuring in the past few weeks. The heat has been unbearable. I watch as the mercury climbs into the nineties, and afternoon storms blow in leaving tree limbs down, but no relief. As I make the short walk to the lot where I leave my car I measure my steps, and the minutes it takes for me to wait for my car in the garage that’s even hotter than the air outside.

My moods have been uncharacteristically like the weather, unpleasant with a chance of a late afternoon storm. The news I hear each day seems worse than the day before. Tragedies pile on top of each other, I can hardly keep track of who was killed and when. Which shooting was that? For the first time I understand the impulse of not wanting to bring children into this world. The future looks bleak, and I worry about the planet my daughter will inherit. I can no longer measure my sadness.

A few days ago I saw my friend Don. He has Alzheimer’s and I haven’t seen him in several months. It was impossible not to measure his decline and it was wonderful to see him. He had a few lapses, but overall was himself; completely recognizable and engaged. Seeing him made me feel better than almost anything else last week.

At work it is starting to dawn on everyone that changes are happening and I am the agent of those changes. People are mad at me. It’s my job to count hours and measure efficiency. I am keeping track of things previously unnoticed. Because I am heralding accountability I am the enemy.

When my daughter was little one of my favorite books of hers was Toot and Puddle, You Are my Sunshine. Toot is in a funk, and nothing can cheer him up until a “great whopping storm” breaks him out of it. Where is my whopping storm? I need a clear, fresh breeze so I can open my windows and air out my stuffy house. I need to sit outside and enjoy the evening air. Can we get a week with no disasters and no mass killing of any sort? I need a break from Donald Trump. I need a respite from measuring.

When I called Stanley Tools I spoke to a lovely woman with a thick Southern accent. I’d guess she was from Oklahoma, but I didn’t ask, so I’ll never know. Her name was Linda and she told me that they no longer make the measuring tape I broke, but they would be sending me a replacement that was the updated, upgraded version. I will receive my new, improved measuring tape in seven to ten days, and can get back to measuring, but for now I may make some jam or a pie, nothing that needs to be measured.