Monday Musings

This morning smelled like mustard and tar and desperation. It’s Auburn, after all, so not unexpected. The balance comes in the house this morning in the form of the lingering scents of bacon and cake. 

It’s an early one. We’re headed downtown, where K will get that nasty break surgically repaired. I find myself wondering about some “patron saint of all things steel and screws” as I quietly say a simple prayer of my own: may it be simple, may it be swift, may it be successful. 

We’re prepared. We spent yesterday shopping and planning. The car and house should be ready to safely receive us. I spent the 9 o’clock hour last night removing polish from her toes. Not a thing I have ever done. Not sure if it is worse to be caregiver or patient sometimes. Either way I suppose we learn a new measure of tolerance and endurance. It’s actually quite intimate in the oddest of ways. 

I remember commuting every day and now that I’m out in traffic again it comes flooding back to me. It used to be that prime time was 6-8 AM, staring at red streaks in front of me as brake lights flashed. I dreaded the hours of low light for the painful headlamps directed straight into my line of sight just above the red glare. A dizzying array of red and unnatural LED super bulbs. 

If the “after 8 bunch” insures a more peaceful drive, the “before 5 bunch” clearly does not. I will say again that I do not miss commuting and I hope beyond hope that my days of having to endure it are limited. 

I remember the early days of Covid when the roads were eerily empty. It’s a damn shame that wasn’t a thing that would become a more permanent shift. We always seem to be going somewhere, to get somewhere, only to realize that we are always only just where we are. 

On my walk with Yoda yesterday I encountered 12 (yes 12) masks on the ground. It’s a damn shame that was the thing that DID become a more permanent shift. Sigh. 

I’m digging through messages I’ve sent myself on this phone: 

puzzle 
secret suppers 
pool
warp and woof 
electric knife
avalanch chutes

I make little sense sometimes even to myself. And so today, I will reply to a few letters, read a bit and do my best to be patient. (That isn’t my strong suit, but it certainly will benefit from the practice). 

It’s Monday. 
Somewhere in this waiting room, jazz is being piped in to dull the chatter. I don’t hate jazz. But this morning I kind of do. It’s like someone spraying perfume to cover up smoke. What I wouldn’t give for a forest, or crunchy snow or a steep mountain trail

God grant me the serenity.