THE OUTHOUSE. page 35

An outhouse in Arizona gives one pause for thought, especially if it is old,
cobwebby, packrat nested and if the night is hot and dark. One can not help but
wonder what might be crawling about.

At night I set off for the outhouse armed with a flashlight, the dog and a roll of
paper.

If I left the paper hanging and a wind arose, a curious updraft would send the
paper roll spinning. The next time I went to the little house, I would find it
necessary to pull reams of t.p. streamers from the surrounding cholla, barrel and
saguaro cacti.

If I left the paper sitting by the hole and the wind blew, the paper disappeared
altogether, wafted by the wind-blown slamming door, which could only be

latched from the inside.

One morning I scrambled half way down the butte to the outhouse and found
the door had come off its hinges and taken flight. I found it nestled amidst a bed
of cholla. I dragged it back to the doorway but could not make it stay in place.

Modesty demanded a solution, just in case a cowboy rode closely by. I walked
in, held the door sideways, then I pulled it to lean against the doorway of the
little building. Delightful! With only my head above the door I could gaze out
over an early morning vista and watch London herding cattle he had found.

During the day while people stared at porcelain bathrooms, I gazed at
distant mesas or cactus, cotton-tails, coyotes and whatever else chose to walk,
crawl or slither by.

At night while people stared at lightbulbs in their porcelain bath-rooms, I
watched the rising moon and falling stars, while I listened to owl hoots and
coyote calls.



G.B and the Strange Canadian Painter Lady
by Charlotte Madison and Nana Cook copyright 1994