He says to me, ‘I have covered myself with witchcraft!’ Pause. I ask, ‘What?’ He responds, ‘You know…witchcraft for all the bug bites!’ Pause.
‘Do you mean witch hazel?’ ‘Yes! That’s it!’ he responds with great enthusiasm.
For a brief moment, I envisioned this entire next school year running on a completely different track…
She kept reading and reading. It was the most sacred of escapes; an unquenchable stream of truth and beauty and human struggle to bring things back into balance. She turned pages and knew once again, there was nothing new in the human experience.
Every emotion she felt had been at one time felt by someone else in different rooms under different skies.
She calmed down, gathered her thoughts, lifted up the rich burden of life, hoisting it full bellied onto her shoulder and determined to go on…
Presenting the non-edible shopping run…mouthwash, toilet paper, laundry detergent, fabric softener, dish soap, windshield washer fluid…
Profoundly boring…
It is the loneliness of plans incomplete and the irritation of a hurried and vague day…but the grounding of the simple things…the run for groceries and gas, the quick dinner and the dodging of rain drops…
The smaller things grant life…
She turned the card over in her hand, white and thick with a computer generated swirly font. Nothing much. ‘Hmmm…couldn’t write it out by hand, it seems’, she murmured. She opened it up, scanned it quickly, reading a rather vague message about celebrating anniversaries and such…the nuances of the marriage, married life and the passing of years and so forth.
She folded it over and placed it in her lap. She leaned back in the chair, resting her head against the cushion. Indistinct notes of liquid jazz echoed from somewhere on this slow summer morning and she could not identify the tune…just that steady stream of a well worn song pulling one through the experience…a thousand late night dinners and clinking glasses…July twilight on Park Avenue. It had all been done before, but comfortable pleasure of it came from knowing just that. ‘Don’t get around much anymore’…the notes faded as someone closed a window.
She returned to the card dilemma. ‘I don’t like the woman. Never did’. She said the words out loud and it startled her. The woman had not done anything to her. She was simply there. Her husband, on the other hand was opinionated, controlling…gave off an air of arrogance. That was something else. But the woman hadn’t really done anything…other than be attached to him. Ah…the attachment was the problem.
A mourning dove cooed and disappeared into thick green leaves. The porch was starting to heat up. She had made her decision. She stood up and went back into the house, tossing the card in the kitchen trash bin. That card was not going in the scrapbook…
If one…more…cheap…plastic…clickity…clackity…rin-tin-tin…wormwood and blather…made in China…pencil sharpener drops off a desk and bounces onto the floor so that it splits open and the top part goes one way and the bottom part rolls another way…
I’m going to…
Witnessed today during a fire drill…as we stood along the sidewalk and I looked into a parked car…behold, a dirty ash tray heaped to the sky with old cigarette butts…resting quietly right next to the asthma pump.
Similar to reading the Weight Watcher’s cookbook while eating a bag of salted chips…methinks.
Breakfast time…he’s rummaging noisily down in the kitchen…something involving a can of Spam, a jar of Cheese Whiz and a bag of Goya crackers. The food adventure is happening downstairs right now. I can’t. I just can’t.
I’m upstairs with a big old mug of strong coffee. My goals are small today. Today will NOT be the first day I show up to a Zoom meeting in my bathrobe. I will not show up to my meeting in my bathrobe. I will not.
‘Do you want any of this ham?’ he yells up the stairs. I shake my head, even though he can’t see me doing this. I return the yell, ‘It’s not ham. It’s Spam and I’m afraid of it!’ I don’t know if I actually say the second part about being afraid out loud.
He bellows, ‘Ok, okay. I know where I stand!’ I just can’t. I give myself a once over check. Yes, I am dressed. Goal met…
The computer blinks on…
Zoom moments: Carmen Miranda is on Zoom…with me. All alone as I watch from my office and my side of the online rectangular box…my miniature student girl is all decked out…sporting ear buds with her little head wrapped up, styled high with a tightly tied red, white and blue towel.
All we’re missing are the bananas…
Life on Zoom as a teacher…
So what I thought I heard her say was…’Oh, do you like hot dogs too?’ It didn’t seem quite right that this overly chatty clerk helping customers at Sterling Optical was asking me about hot dogs…but given the way the day had already rolled and my general malaise and knowing the world is often more weird than not…I ran with it. ‘Oh yes!’ I replied. ‘I love hot dogs. Who doesn’t love a good hot dog?’ I considered going further and mentioning my favorite condiments, but I held back.
She smiled brightly and said to another customer, ‘We just built a new deck so now we’re really all set’. I sat there and thought about all the hot dogs soon to be grilled on the deck. This was a happy conversation which suddenly slid slightly sideways when I heard her say cheerily, ‘Of course the weather needs to be right around 60 degrees. That’s ideal’.
This gave me pause. Of all the hot dogs I have ingested over the years, never once was 60 degrees held up as the ideal eating temperature. 20 below in February…chili dogs with onions. 100 degrees in July…dogs with mustard, ketchup and relish at the ball park.
I looked at her, confused. She chatted on happily…such a non-stop chatter, this one. She turned away from the customer at the counter and addressed me again. ‘You know…when you have to get out and go right in the house, 60 degrees is just about perfect!’ The customer standing there nodded politely in agreement. I looked away and swallowed carefully. Hot tubs. Not hot dogs.
I shifted in my seat and stared vaguely in the general direction of a pile of glasses frames lying on the table in front of me. Considering my aforementioned malaise, the trick now was to extricate myself from this conversation without having to explain anything…hot dogs, hot tubs, condiments, my inadequate hearing.
I stirred slightly, edging ever so slowly in another direction, away from the clerk, the counter and the general business of buying new glasses.
She didn’t miss me.
Overall, the visit to Sterling Optical was a success. I ordered bi-focal contacts and new glasses. They don’t sell hearing aids. She thinks I own a hot tub. I know she owns one and likes to talk about it. What I don’t know is if she likes hot dogs. I’m not sure whether the other customers own hot tubs or eat hot dogs.
I’m glad I did not mention condiments…
690 Saint Paul 