Deb and I like reading through catalogs at breakfast. Seasonal, generic, whatever. We amuse easily.
Now we’re getting Easter catalogs. No Passover catalogs, though. Although I suspect one order of Yehuda matzos from Amazon and that will be over.
ME: See what this t-shirt says?
DEB: “It’s not about the bunny, it’s about the lamb.” So?
ME: What’s all over the rest of the page? Bunnies. Preceding five pages? Bunnies. Following three pages? Bunnies. So basically bunnies out-sell lambs by 53 to one. Also, on the t-shirt itself? No lambs. …
ME: So, are we going to be able to keep the snow people a little longer? I know it’s March, but we do still have actual snow on the ground.
DEB: Well, I only have a few Saint Patrick’s Day things, and it’s a few weeks until Easter. Why?
Deb likes to decorate for holidays. Christmas is the big one, of course — the Christmas tree, special stuff on the mantel, the wreath on the front door, Christmas folks all over—but even after the tree comes down, she has backup “generic winter” items that go on display.
She’s much better…
When I want to warm up something to body temperature, I stick it under my arm. Simple, easy, I just need to keep that arm against my side. Other people — one of whom married me — just sticks it under another part of her anatomy for the same purpose. Usually it’s a place-and-forget¹ kind of thing, until she needs to retrieve it.
Last night I walked into our main bedroom sink area, and as I did, Deb’s tube of lip goop (which needs to be body temperature to spread easily) falls on the floor.
ME: Honey, are you…
I have taken to Apple’s Fitness+ “Mindful Cooldowns,” which are a way to bring a body down from a high heart rate, but also work on mindfulness. Kinda like their yoga routines (mostly the same coaches) but without the poses. Also shorter.
So I finish this MC routine and have breakfast with Deb. And I have a question for her.
ME: Do I have a particular unique gift, talent, or quality?
DEB: (look that says “What?”)
ME: Okay, so I was doing this mindfulness routine, and the coach said to visualize a glass. Half empty or half full.¹ Then think…
So then I thought to find the time
By counting out the sands,
Or trying to glean the meaning
From a watch that had no hands…
A pretty wordpicture
With its broad strokes of frustration,
But it just isn’t right.
Are handless, immanuary.
Not even a finger or a hangnail,
Yet I can give you the time to the
(3… 2… 1… MARK)
D I G I T I Z E D
We’ve digitalized our lives
So that we may digitalately
Mark the passing moments
We used to give Someone in trouble A hand; Now we…
Our family (Deb’s side) learned several years ago that we love B&Bs¹ for occasions special (anniversaries) and not (crashing at a local B&B after seeing a show at the theatre next county over, thereby only driving ten minutes late at night instead of forty). The last several Christmases they have given us gift certificates to B&Bs local and not-so-local, which is pretty cool.
So when we got a gift certificate for the Apple Bin Inn, a B&B a short drive away from the theatre where we had season tickets, we knew how we’d use it: we’d take in the April…
enjoying cold cold landscapes
from warm warm comfort
when a littlebird lands on the suet feeder
Perplexed by built-up snow
he pecks randomly
at icy buildup
Since I’m retired, I feel a certain moral obligation to help out at weekday funerals at our church (I staff the AV booth to handle the sound system, mic control, any videos the family wants to run, and video streaming so that others can see the service without having to actually risk themselves during the Trump Pandemic). I also (thanks to my Episcopal upbringing) feel that I should wear a suit, because That’s What You Wear To A Funeral, Dammit. (Unless it’s my funeral. Wear what you want to that one.)
On the positive side, I can now fit into…
Deb’s Fitbit reminds her to be up and walking every hour. Unlike my Apple Watch, which just wants to make sure I’m standing up¹, Deb’s fitness tracker insists she actually move every hour. Thus Deb has developed the routine of walking around the ground floor of our house in a deliberate but not always predictable pattern until she gets her required steps registered. Sometimes while she walks she catches up on emails, sometimes she checks Facebook, sometimes she ponders things.
And then shares them.
DEB: Y’know, if we really wanted to make this house single-floor living, we could do it.
The fireworks boom and glare in the night
over the ground where hours before
spectators were cautioned officially
Not this time…
Not this time…
Not like 156 years and 192 days before
when insurrectionist gunfire could be heard from the Capital
until beaten back still miles away
and never did a CSA banner wave
in the house of the USA government
until zero years and 14 days before
when gunfire echoed as rioters and defenders died
until blood stained the floors
and CSA banners floated through hallways
in the house of the USA government
But it’s okay now! The bad…
Husband & retiree. Developer, tech writer, & IT geek. I fill what’s empty, empty what’s full, and scratch where it itches. Occasionally do weird & goofy things.