Magically delicious indeed

Lucky Charms for dinner and I'm not working the overnight tonight. Hard to believe I'm this happy about going to bed alone at 9 PM but I'll take it. 

Waylaid

I woke up on a cot in my office, slipped on my boots, walked down the street through the preamble of a blizzard, and was heartened to find the diner open. I drank plenty of hot coffee there along with Elvis's favorite (two slices of French toast with peanut butter and banana in between and four slices of bacon on the side) served to me by a 40 something Pinky Tuscadero. The jukebox played Lionel Richie's "Hello" as we said goodbye. It is for the surreal within the ordinary that I live. 

Stargazer

The night was crisp and as absolutely clear as it could possibly be. We both noticed that. 

There were so many stars. 

He went out to one of the hill towns where there's less human-generated light for a better view of the cold and brilliant sky. It was around midnight and the temperature was below zero. He was dressed in merino wool, insulated hiking boots, wool hat and gloves. 

It was so beautiful that words failed him. You want to laugh and cry at the same time. You want to show someone - embrace them with it. See? See? Feel...

How could he not feel an integral part of the universe, beneath all of those stars, at that holy hour, under those sacred conditions. It's like you're laying down with your head resting on the chest of the universe listening to the rhythm of its heartbeat. It's exactly the same rhythm as your own. It's exactly the same rhythm as everything.

He saw and felt and realized the connectedness. The entire web of the universe visible, tactile, penetrating his feelings. How could he not, out there beneath all those magnificent stars? The magnificence of us - all of us - all creation. Everything, everything. 

The Mystery. All are relatives. 

This was his context when he decided to approach the house. He saw, from outside,  the silver-blue glow of TV light  illuminating the picture window and a man sitting in a recliner watching. He knocked on the door. The man opened it. He looked puzzled. 

It's late, the man must have thought. I don't know you. WTF?

The stargazer produced a large piece of quartz from his small, tidy backpack and gave it to the man in the spirit of friendship. Like you would share something precious with a dear beloved relative. He wanted to facilitate the man's healing and the healing of his family. 

The man called the police. The stargazer tried to explain. The police didn't notice, or pretended not to notice, the stars. They didn't take the time to consider their meaning. To ponder the Mystery. 

The police brought him to the hospital. That they knew how to do. He was acting crazy after all.

Now he's talking to me, choosing his words very carefully. He admits that things became a little awkward and, in retrospect, maybe he should not have knocked on that man's door. He is trying to show reserve, prudence, good judgment. He is trying to project for me a portrait of normalcy. He is trying to avoid an involuntary psychiatric hospitalization.

But in his eyes, I can see an endlessly deep ceiling of stars. On his face, I can see the wonder of one who has glimpsed the Mystery too.

Ten while moonlighting

The shift is changing- travel nurses- almost all black and moving. 

The way we cope with Covid-19 is what we have in the bank.

There's safety in privilege, risk in need. Pray, maybe. Try. Just do.

This risk is just another one on the list, maybe even opportunity. 

It's another threat, confront or deny, but most of all, keep moving by.

Some strike while the others work. It's not about principle. It's bills.

It's difficult to understand no choice when you're born with options. 

The company pays me to sit here reading, typing this, as they walk by

Making small talk, carrying their phones and the night's meal, walking heavy,

Looking straight ahead, masked, never noticing me or the resource I represent.

Rub some dirt on it

I drove to work with snow falling toward me through the headlights. It wasn't too bad most of the way until I slid across a rotary and whacked my right front wheel against the curb. The car and I recovered, but the wheel was vibrating, the ABS brake system warning light was flickering, and the car was shaking all over. We kept going though and, after awhile, the vibrations seemed to stop. We made it to my destination without the wheel falling off or the need for a tow truck's services. Denial wins again. 

The concealed celebrity

There was a lavender sunset out there tonight. 

And earlier in the day we met the man who lobbied hard to get bocce included in the Special Olympics and succeeded. He invited us to come and play some night at the Italian-American club. Don't worry, you don't have to be an Italian. He sells a certain sandwich there for the same price he did when he opened in 1972. 

He gave us a stock tip, a lifestyle recommendation, an invitation, and a history lesson in the first ten minutes we were in his store. He makes and sells various wines and names them for his relatives. Their photos are on the labels. He makes and bottles his own sodas. He makes tee-shirts and built miniature bocce courts that you can take home and play on a table top. He's not starving for ideas, this guy. 

He recommends you eat at the table at least once a day with your family. All the rest is poop, he says. An ambassador of goodwill for reasons all his own. Such a rare encounter.

January

It's cold, in the single digits, this morning and I can hear a lone crow in the trees behind the house reminding me that I've got food waste waiting in the sink needing to be composted. Much of that waste never makes it into the soil, at least not where I put it,  and is instead eaten by scavengers. I don't like that word much though. It's got somewhat of a derogatory connotation which should never be applied to the tough, long-suffering, hard-working, resourceful beings who eat that food. 

It's the weekend, and my schedule is changing to accommodate overnight work for the next week or so. Today, it's the middle child, and getting him boosted. He'll be 21 this month.

I think your birthday was yesterday. Forty-four now, n'it? Well, I hope it's well-celebrated and that you get to have some crepe cake in there somewhere, unless of course you've found something you like better since then. After all, that was another life. Aw, skip it. 

I just hope it was a good birthday for you.

Ouch

He's in a class called Adulting. The first day he learned how to write a check, the difference between a credit and a debit card, what a credit rating is, and what an IRA is. That's great, I said. I asked him what they did in class today. Played some game, he said. Was it about adulting? Yeah, he said. How'd it go? 

I lost, he said. What do you mean? How? I ran out of happiness, he said. 

The Wild Bunch

Two or three dozen intoxicated American Robins were running riot in and about the crab apple tree at my place of work this morning. Out of season. Out of area. Out of order. I'll bet hard crab apple cider was the attraction and the fuel of the occasion. Where'd they come up from, I wonder. South Jersey? D.C.? The Carolinas?  I couldn't detect any accents, but they were sauced alright. Frozen fermentation. From early birds to surly birds, they flew off in a loose platoon formation revving their engines, kicking over trash cans, howling at the moon.

Refinancing

He called to check on the status of my paperwork. I've been kind of slow.

He first helped me refinance when I got divorced. It was a particular low.

Now, it's time to refinance again and his checking in serves as a milepost.

Remembering the last time, I can see I'm in a better place. And so is he.

Not everyone makes it through, he says, having just lost a friend to suicide.

Handsome, athletic, divorced, and just passed 50. He leaves three kids behind.

He himself lost his partner some time ago to a fentanyl overdose. No stranger.

January is especially hard for him, he tells me.

Are you seeing anyone, he asks me. Now why would I do that, I answer. 

We laugh. I tell him I notice things like the sun rising and setting. 

This morning, the pink sky along the ridge silhouetting the church steeple.

Those days are gone for me, I want to say, but I'm trying to keep it upbeat.

Yes, I did survive those years of watching my family dissolve, of

becoming a stranger to myself, of financial collapse and of the taste of 

rejection in my mouth. I did that. And now I'm out to sea, just as you are. 

We can sink or float or swim in whatever direction we choose. It's great.

I am directly under the moon

The Wolf Moon arrived after I shoveled the heavy slush, which I could hardly lift, and froze the driveway to a skating rink. I don't skate which means I'm more likely to fall. The bright silver moon mostly kept me up last night leaving me more worried than wolfish in and out of anxiety dreams. I had yesterday off and managed to get a few things done but not all I had planned. For 2022, let's resolve to rename that thing you call procrastination to meditation. It's time you gave yourself a little credit. 

Wishful

She traveled alone to the opposite coast for the first time in her life. She'd imagined it in her mind first, over and over again. 

I wanted it to be all of that for her and more, but there were problems, and she missed a connecting flight. There were delays and cancelations to wade through, but she finally made it to her hotel. I felt somehow proud of her. 

She stayed in her room mostly, feeling introverted, and fell ill on the second day. I felt sorry and helpless.

I would have liked to be there to get her out and show her around. To treat her to crab cakes or something. To take care of her. But I stayed in my room too, a thousand miles away, feeling introverted. 

She shouldn't have traveled home in that condition, but she couldn't afford to stay any longer. I would have liked to pick up the tab for her room, but I couldn't do that either.

Who

I saw you in a photo smiling with your husband. I thought you looked right together and then I disappeared.

I'm made of and by the algorithm

I went to the diner for lunch today but, this time, everything about it was wrong somehow. I wanted to leave before the food arrived. The voices talking and laughing. The words they said. Scripted nonsense. I felt like I could write what they were going to say next for the rest of the conversation. For the rest of eternity. 

A couple of hours later, I read about the experience I'd just had..

"Sometimes, when I least expect it, the suffocating quality of the ordinary takes me by the throat and I feel physically sickened by the voices and gestures of my so-called fellow man. That genuine nausea, felt in my stomach and in my head, is the foolish wonderment of an alert sensibility...Each individual who speaks to me, each face whose eyes meet mine, has the same impact on me as a direct insult or foul language. I overflow with a horror of everything. I grow dizzy feeling myself feel that." 

Thank you, Senhor Pessoa. Exactly. But what are you doing in my head?

Nine

It warmed up to 9 degrees overnight so that's something. 

I told someone today that I was in sort of a rut and couldn't find the energy to get out. The person told me not to wait, to get out and to do it fast. It's not a new rut, I wanted to say, but I was already too tired for all that might come after.

Alright, I'm up (fuck)

Thanks for yanking me out of my sleep at 4 AM. I wasn't really doing anything anyway. Something about Ora-gel. Something else about confusion regarding the start time. Anger isn't really a sleep aid so there's no way back to that exotic land for me. 

Microeconomics

The back story is that I'd met her on an island as part of a small group of strangers at a retreat one summer day. We spent about 36 hours together. Early on, she told me that I seemed normal and asked if she could set her bed up next to mine. She was young and beautiful and seemed in need of watching over. 

That night, I watched a porcupine enter the circle of mostly sleeping people and choose her to make contact with. The next afternoon was idyllic - sunny and breezy and quiet - and I listened to her sing to herself while gently swinging in a hammock. Because of these events, I developed (in my head) a sort of unreciprocated intimacy with her that persisted for a couple of years. 

She was a Kazakh who'd overstayed a student visa by several years and was living in an expensive neighborhood in Boston. She rented out the bedroom of her one bedroom apartment through Air B&B. I don't know how else she made ends meet. She'd reached out to me through social media recently so I invited her out to dinner. 

We ate a delicious Spanish feast with lots of wine that night. She was not shy about eating or drinking or speaking her mind, and I liked this about her. When we'd finished eating and drinking, she told me she thought I was a nice guy and proposed to me. 

Here were her terms: we'd need to marry - soon - and establish the appearance of cohabitation for two or three years. There were some interviews we'd have to get through. We'd need to know very intimate details about each other. Immigration fraud is punishable by prison, so we'd have to have our rap down tight. There'd be no sex, but she could get me a couple of thousand dollars if I wanted. After a couple of years, we'd file for divorce.

She told me not to worry, lots of her friends did this. She told me that most men she'd proposed to tried to take advantage of her and expected sex or a lot of money. She could tell, though, that I was a nice guy.

It was early in trump's presidency. She told me she admired him. She said she loved donald trump. I asked her why. She liked that he was brash and bold. She loved that he had all the money and the power. That he was ostentatious. He was Alpha. He had balls. 

It's a con, I told her. He's weak. Empty. 

We talked about these things for awhile. Argued. About marriage and about what we were looking for and about trump.

Listen, you're still young, I said. You've got plenty of time to meet and marry someone you actually love. 

She laughed. 

And you, she said. What do you think? Some woman will come along and love you just for being who you are?

Somewhere

 

Shovel it

Well, the snow didn't melt overnight and it's a lot colder out there this morning. Now I've got to go out and shovel it. Two more people tested positive at work last night, so it's likely most of the weekend will be spent at work covering vacancies. The urge to stay in bed is powerful, if one can describe something so devoid of power in such terms. 

Well, there wasn't as much snow out there as I'd expected but it still hurt to move it. How snow shoveling leaves you feeling is an interesting metric to look at year after year. Interesting.

Well, now it's dark again and about 13 degrees above zero. My youngest asked me if I wanted to go and see Westside Story, and since I'd been spared the out-of-shape post-middle-age shoveler's side effect of cardiac arrest, I said sure. We both liked the Spielberg version. And just like me at his age, he said it was the first musical he'd ever seen and liked. Maybe he'll check out more. 

Well, I found myself repeating some of the music in my head on the drive home. Say it loud and it's music playing. Say it soft and it's almost like praying. To love with such certainty. It's suicidal. Those crazy kids.

Meaning what exactly

You've become proficient at burning entire days like they don't matter at all. 

To keep the dream alive

There was something like a mannequin lying in the street. Like a mannequin but more detailed. A humanoid form, neither living or dead, lying in the street. Its face had been removed. Something about that facelessness was incredibly disturbing to behold. So disturbing that I couldn't resist pointing it out to strangers passing by. One of those passers-by happened to be Billy Idol. 

I said to Mr. Idol, Look! Eyes without a face. You're eyes without a fa-ace. Got no human grace. You're eyes without a face. 

Then Billy Idol became David Bowie and then he lifted the head from the ground, handed it to me, and encouraged me to dance like I might in a music video. He suggested some moves - showed me. I did my best to replicate them.

I shimmied. I raised my leg high, like a ballerina, pointing my toes to the sky. And then I tipped over backwards. While attempting to recover, I told Mr. Bowie that of course my mobility was excellent. David and I had a long laugh then at my expense. I didn't feel badly about picking up the check. It felt good to be laughing.

Self-deprecation always wins the day.

Here at least

The soreness arrived today. Back to work and feeling like I've gotten on top of it today, at least for the moment. There's even fewer staff to cover the overnight shifts this week. This means you either burnout the few remaining or you pick them up yourself. Lunch in a diner. Grocery shopping after work. Early to bed. Neither hot or cold. Just here.

Oh procrastinator

I did not accomplish what I set out to accomplish today so I've gone to bed early in order to prepare to get up even earlier tomorrow to take another crack but I can't sleep now and feel the whole plan has been shot to hell. 

Gym

This morning I remembered I had a body. I asked it how it was doing. It changed the subject. I asked it if it wanted to go to the gym and then just dragged it in there before it had a chance to respond. We didn't end up doing very much, but what we did do didn't feel very good.