05/28/2021 0 By BuddyCushman

Oh, late Friday afternoon, is it me or are the minutes, hours, and days whizzing by. Like it was just Tuesday when I was dropping Spenser at his soon-to-be new home over with Aaron in the next town of Gresham, 15 miles in driving distance but a route from one of Dante’s lower levels of hell with lights and lights and more lights and your average Oregon driver, and – enough of that judging – anyway, here it is Friday afternoon and those three nights have come and gone quickly and how much did I really accomplish in terms of packing and completely redirecting my life those two days he was not here to need constant explaining to and comforting of. Hope it’s more than it feels looking at all the odds and ends seemingly everywhere on a walk through this house I’ve lived in 11 years now – pretty much a record for me with the exception of the house I grew up in on High Street in Wareham, Massachusetts.

And Spenser gets it and then he doesn’t and he looks forward – all the way back and after a stop for him at Subway – to sit in the living-room with his still step-mom and watch High School Musical 2, which even if I wasn’t a basement dweller I’d slink down to the below-ground depths and watch Goliath or Bosch or something else cheery. But here I am, down here, a Blog to write and feeling a smidge Hunter Thompson-esque, the mojo machine in the corner screaming for copy, and me with traffic reports and the mental and spiritual twirlings of a kid with Down syndrome and his Dad with who-knows-what. Charm, perhaps? Delusion? Maybe just sharing a little joke with the world.

Which is it for late Friday afternoon from down here in a Portland basement, my next-to-last Friday in this home which has been real good to me all this time – offered up some magic along the way. And ditto for the still wife. She’s been real good for me. Even counting the last six weeks.

I could dial up YouTube and play Warren Zevon’s “Accidently Like a Martyr” and get all morose. But that’s not me. I think I’ll find some elementary school choir, hopefully with kids from all races, singing something with “Tra-la-la” in it.