A Friday

Just re-read my Spenser Subway story from a couple of days ago, people have mentioned it has a good flow and a good mix of humor and serious dread. That makes me happy. I feel like I “got it”, and I also remember it was written within a 22:59 timed writing exercise, so as in “Duh”, please continue to sit for them, in fact don’t let a day go by going forward, with all the days I’m given – rewarded? – and in fact sitting for three or more of these daily writing exercises would be a very good idea, plus down here writing I’m pretty much alone and not disrupted by noise or business other than spilling my beans. I plan to begin these three-a-days today.

I have two other activities scheduled for this Friday, one is going to do a big shopping at Trader Joe’s just after 9am this morning, that’s a bit of a “yikes”, clearly living now in an alternative universe. The other piece of ‘business’ is to sit with my wife Susan , enhanced by/with shared coffee, and go over where our stuff is – mine and hers – and how stuff (accounts) are accessed, and where stuff should go or could go so we both know if one of us doesn’t make it through this time of the virus. That seems responsible, though a lot less fun than streaming episodes of “Lucifer” on the boob tube, which I’m pretty sure most folks aren’t so down on the activity of watching television or considering it quite so “boobish” here in these days of self and governmental suggested stay in the house.

Which does raise the question of what house do you get to stay in, thinking about homeless folks and kids in cages – what is the reality of a roof over your head today? I myself am seriously fortunate being a tenant in my wife’s beautiful home, getting to have the basement pretty much to myself, where nearly all of this writing takes place and some drawing and painting when I am so inclined, and a living room with a comfy couch and a forty buck recliner I bought on Craigslist, new to Portland, ten years ago, the aforementioned television, and a pretty much breathtaking yard when I get out there and twirl around like an elf in the forest, like a “Midsummer Night’s Dream” fairie, and say “Wow” and listen to birds and other sounds of Spring. Plus we have a twenty dollar coffee maker which works just fine and a garage-become-the-wife’s studio where we will bring our coffees and a notebook and take notes on those “where these things are” and “this is how you get to them” – just in case – and “all this stuff, yours, mine, where it could go and maybe ought to go.”

All of which boils down to pretty much I always have a grateful heart and I am especially conscious of gratitude these days, and plus it is crazy but I am nervous to go shopping at Trader Joe’s, but yes we are running out of foods. So on this first Friday of Spring this year, needing green beans and eggs and walnuts and more and being scared to drive to the grocery store and go into it, in there with my fellow Americans, and scheduling an hour to get with my wife and review end-of-times kind of things, I tell you that this is not a morbid business, not a helpless/hopeless milieu, not even a winding down. It is simply the plan for this Friday, which, be assured, will include streaming a bunch of “Lucifers” at some point before the night slides into Saturday.

This is just what we do. Right?