99 New: November Friday Round-Up

Between tampons and political signs, I am spending a lot of time in our truck. I stopped at a house in a north shore suburb to plant a sign for the Democratic candidate for governor. The sign recipient’s neighbor stood in his driveway smoking a cigar and staring at me. He didn’t say anything, just glared from afar. I think the fact that I was driving an F-150 confused and quieted his little aggravated self and I was glad of it.

Speaking of trucks, I greeted a homeless guy sitting on the library steps this morning. He said good morning and as I walked past, I heard him say, “Nice-looking truck.” And it reminded me that so much of conversation or interaction with people is about inconsequential shit but we always think if we engage, especially with a person who appears to be homeless, that somehow we are risking something significant or will be asked for something we don’t want to give. It can just be about the truck, you know. Or the weather.

I bought combat boots at Target, worse I took a picture of them and sent it to my daughter. This makes me feel like one of those old ladies trying to be all hip with my skinny jeans and my long sweater, also from Target, don’t tell, but I harken back to what my therapist told me so many years ago, “You are who you pretend to be.” And so I pretend to be a very hip 70-year old thrifty activist chick who may or may not get second piercings in both ears just to drive the stereotype fully to the end of the road.

My serious writing life has ground to a halt. My writing group kind of temporarily evaporated and I haven’t made new plans. It almost seems inconceivable that I could write anything longer than a blog post and I marvel that I ever have.  It occurs to me that this, right here, might be the full extent of my talent and maybe that ought to be fine. Time is short if you’re 70 and one wonders if it should be spent in yearning to be a great writer. Just buy the boots at Target and move on.

Our remaining dog is mostly mute. Our somewhat beloved BowWow, the little dog with a big and often profane presence, died about a month ago. He left behind his house partner, Minnie, a calm, self-effacing Beagle/Collie mix who doesn’t even rise from her bed until she’s sure the people are fully awake lest she bother them in some untoward way. Minnie is uniquely undemanding so we reward her regularly with the last bit of roast beef or scrambled egg thus endeavoring, I guess, to train her to insist on being noticed even at her advanced age. It has worked only to the extent that she stares at us very intently while we are eating.

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Photo by Agnieszka Kowalczyk on Unsplash