Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventy-Six
Peonies opening.
Short pours of coffee.
South to go north, just to go south again.
We all want it to be easier than it actually is.
It is not until we start to cross the bridge when I remember that I forgot to turn off the oven this morning. “Well, at least I know the house isn’t on fire. The neighbors would have called me by now.”
The house smells of burned sugar. I tell him not to open the oven.
Hot.
I make there just in time to give them hugs and to see their at bats. “You look so much happier.” “I am.
This smell is never going to go away.
All clear.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventy-Five
Monday, Monday, Monday.
The time will pass anyway.
It could be me, but I don’t think it is as hard as they think it needs to be.
Uh-oh.
I find a chair in the sun on the other side of the building. On the other side of the railing is a tiny block of vines. The sound of cars making their way up and down Highway 29.
“I don’t forget who I am.”
My last one as president.
I tell him that I miss my daily phone calls with Julie. My mornings are just not the same.
Be collaborative.
Almost.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventy-Four
Double-header kind of morning.
Not enough coffee in the pot.
I should.
I slice the tomatoes and lettuce and bacon and stack them between two slices of baguette.
Too cold in the shade.
Thank goodness for that backup camera; otherwise, I would have hit the hydrant.
The constant reexamination of self this will require.
Two games. Two wins.
“…to a very large extent, an individual’s current life is the result of earlier choices; life has continuity.”
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventy-Two
What if I’m remembering it wrong?
The last avocado.
Misunderstandings.
Sometimes, keeping your expectations low is a good thing. Low expectations + detachment from the outcome.
Should I or shouldn’t I? I’m running out of time to decide.
Emerging from the cellar into the bright afternoon light. I pick a bench bathed in sunlight. We take in the views as we eat our lunches.
This is a good team.
This left-hand turn off of Oakville Grade, though.
“The fit is fitting.”
Sometimes, it’s nice to have an extra voice at the table.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventy-One
It feels like the morning mist is creeping through the windows.
All black everything.
Now, all white. Don’t spill the coffee.
Peonies and pea tendrils and little white flowers.
A quick lunch at Gott’s before the second session of meetings. A group of older ladies asking questions at the window. The line is beginning to snake out into the parking lot.
That’s a lot of work.
The thing about these reunions is that it’s one of the few times a year I get to see some friends. A manufactured reason outside of ourselves. But I’ll take it.
He says that sitting there, he thought to himself, “This is not a bad life.”
Pizza at the high top and wondering if this is the night they will be tucked into the corner of the bar.
When am I going to get the cleaning done?