Message in a Bottle



Toby’s mining expeditions have finally paid off. Today the little digger found the putrid remains of a cow or maybe a human; I don’t know which. Yogi dropped the ribs when I shouted at him but Toby somehow couldn’t bring himself to do that. Maybe it was because half of what he was swallowing was already down his gullet and the other half was hanging out. I had to pull it out of him. Good thing I had Karel’s special running gloves on.

I walked fifteen kilometers today (9.330 miles for those of you who haven’t made the conversion yet) to the village where we used to live in a 600-year-old half-timbered house. Imagine! It has survived the French Revolution, the Plague, the Basel earthquake, two world wars, occupation, liberation, occupation, liberation and so forth. I’d say more but my knowledge of French history is lamentable.

I also officially become a bag lady toting a big plastic bag through the forests and along country roads in search of beer and wine bottles, even tin cans. I can spot a glass beer bottle at twenty-five paces, provided I walk like one of those stupid dogs you used to see in the back of people’s cars with the heads bobbing from side to side. It’s the only way to spot the glass, plastic and car stereo speakers flung in the ditch.

It's also the best way to spoil my enjoyment of the walk. However, to put a positive spin on the preoccupation, I have decided to make bottle retrieval my mission in life—like the man I met in Cambodia who has made it his mission to rid Cambodia of landmines or if you prefer, anti-personnel devices or some such rubbishy moniker. I expect to be on a reality show soon. There must be a slot for me.

No science podcasts on my Ipod today. I’ve run out. I even switched off the BBC political stuff and immersed myself in the ‘spirituality of sports’. At least those were the first two Tapestry (CBC) podcasts I heard.

Since the leaves are emerging, a month too soon, I won’t be able to see the bottles in a couple of weeks, so I am looking forward to getting in touch with my ‘inner self’. In fact, I almost did about a week ago.

I was fuming (as usual) about the thoughtless felling of trees best situated to hold back erosion, and the damn beer bottles, and the garbage thrown here and there, when I realized I couldn’t take it any more. It was at that moment I experienced an epiphany. I know it’s a bit late for an epiphany. Everybody’s already had theirs and appeared on Oprah long ago, but I’ve never been one to follow a trend. I think I finally gave into the idea of a mini skirt around the time of the Annie Hall look.

In any event I came home and told Karel I had found the meaning of life.

“An epiphany?” he said.

“No really!” I said, ignoring his uncanny ability to read my mind. “I think I’ve had a sudden revelation about the meaning of life.”

“And it’s located in the centre of your body?” he leered at me in my tight running pants.

“Well that might be where it is for you but my epiphany was more profound.”

“Tell me,” he said, still with that lascivious look.

“I discovered that I don’t have to take the weight of the world on my shoulders. I don’t have to be pissed off all the time at everything and how badly people behave, the sins of the world and all that.”

“Oh?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, I finally got it. There’s Jesus for that. His back is broad enough. He died for our sins.”

“Are you just getting that now?”

“Yeah.” I felt a little deflated but then he’s the son of a clergyman.

“It’s always been like that, didn’t you know?”

“Maybe I knew, but I didn’t really 'get' it. What a relief!”

But that was last week. I don’t know how long an epiphany lasts, I suppose for all eternity, but today I must have picked up thirty empty beer bottles and one Gewurtztramer 2006 Medaille d’Or wine bottle.

I feel my faith waning.


This piece will appear in the April edition of Hello Basel 2008.