Small things

I promised myself that I would start journaling again. So here goes nothing! I’ve not done this in more than a quarter century. I’ve not been Journaling longer than many adults have been alive. I’ve not-journaled my way through some extremely momentous life experiences. Smh… how did I let that happen?

Sigh... ​So dumb.

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Not that my life is all that special in the grand scheme of things… but also… of course it is! And I’ve had a bad-bad front seat for some pretty spectacular life events. Most days it’s pretty humdrum but at the same time every day little things happen that are worth inspecting.

Stop the car, nuh

Like yesterday morning for instance… I was driving to work on a film set. Going against the morning traffic; so moving quickly. And I drove over (literally over) a baby mongoose in the middle of the road about a ¼ mile from my house. He was very much alive, did not appear injured and I looked into his tiny, but oh-so-bright little eyes as he stared at my oncoming vehicle. My wheels passed on either side of him and I was gripped by an intense desire to stop the car, pull over and go rescue the little bugger.

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But I was moving quickly as I mentioned so by the time I started to maths out the practical steps for how I would effect the rescue I was a good ways down the road. I weighed the likelihood that he was injured, or maybe just scared (having followed mom across the road), and being startled, frozen still by a car roaring over him (maybe one or two before me). I imagined myself getting out of my car, running back to where he crouched, flailing my arms to force other motorists to avoid me. Risking life and limb to pick him up. I thought of myself running with a towel (I had no gloves in the car, but I always have a beach towel) to try and grab him without getting mauled by his razor sharp little teeth and claws. I thought about his Mom – probably on the side of the road squeaking obscenities at him, trying to get him to hurry across the next 12 feet of asphalt to safety. I thought about the ensuing struggle with the little bastard and/or his pissed-off Mom in the middle of the road.

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda...

By now I was about a mile down the road – too late to stop. Too late to turn back. He was probably a greasy smear on the asphalt by now… I was simultaneously bereft and relieved. I felt like a shitty human. Poor little guy! I should have helped him.

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So I called my brother. He immediately understood my predicament (also a small animal lover) but he reinforced my sensible decision to keep driving. 2 miles further down the road I was still thinking of the little guy… his bright little eyes, the same warm shade of melted milk-chocolate brown as his fur. I hoped he was OK. He was probably dead, but in my mind’s eye I saw him scamper finally to the safety of the unkempt sidewalk, through a fence and into a yard with his frustrated mom.

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I’m currently on board an early morning flight to Fort Lauderdale to attend my uncle’s funeral. I’m still seeing his little eyes – I’m still thinking of his little mongoose life. I really hope he’s OK. He’s probably dead though. I should have stopped, braved the traffic, the claws and teeth; saved his ornery little ass.

I hope he’s OK. ​

Mongoose are so resilient.

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He’s probably dead though… cho.