Today is our 36th anniversary. Every year I say the same thing – about how we had only been dating a short while and were engaged for all of a week – a Tuesday to Tuesday proposition – and how it all seemed unreal and impermanent until it wasn’t, our embeddedness in each other, our kids, our house, our dogs, our work planting us like a remarkable piece of sidewalk with nary a crack though it was poured a hundred years ago. So anyway, I say it again, lest I forget, don’t be afraid, go ahead.
One of my skills is the public apology. I learned this at the Social Development Commission, an old-time, rough and tough anti-poverty organization that was led and shaped by Black men and women. You could be redeemed if you owned up and apologized for wrongdoing, negligence, mistakes of whatever form. Otherwise, you were dirt. Forgiveness only followed admission. I had colleagues who would look down and apologize before anyone thought to criticize them. We were all hugging before we knew what it was they did wrong. Too bad not everybody went to my alma mater.
The ground is too frozen to plant my Bloomberg sign. But it is leaning up against our porch for all to see. I ache for competence and common sense. I can’t stand any more arm waving and yelling. It’s making me crazy. I want somebody who will keep the Coronavirus from killing me and not deport naturalized citizens, several of whom I know very well.
It is really swell to have the last remaining wage earner retire one month and then watch the stock market go in the dumper the next. Amazingly invigorating and challenging. We are hoarding 89 cent cans of tuna fish, you know, for our new life in the extreme downsizing of your retirement expectations lane. And I have to say, traffic over here is fierce.
I bought a new comforter and pillows today. Our old, beloved comforter became the object of Swirl’s extreme interest one day a few months ago. It was red plaid, thick and super cozy, but he shredded the underside and after a while we couldn’t abide sleeping with the shreds. He even chewed the corner off the pillow that we loved because it said, in red stitching, “Stay cozy.” The new comforter and throw pillows say nothing. They are speechless. No promises or exhortations. We will have to fill in the blanks ourselves, I guess.