Like a Greek myth that punishes its subject to suffer the daily pattern of futility as recompense for some trespass with the gods, so it was: not the recurring monotony of the pandemic but instead just getting our kids to… Read More ›
There is a pervasive sense of loss in all this, a strange peace that could be a kind of acceptance or another form of dismay. The frame of our worlds collapsing down, retracting.
It is the best day ever! A Monday, full-on sun, and I’m not working yet. I smoked a five-pound pork shoulder on the bone and weeded, planted flowers, just poured a beer and it’s only 3.
This week we all went nuts.
It’s always something, some locust or beetle or “killer bees.”
Dad retreats to the den while the chicken marinates, lights a stick of incense, and helps the dog get a bone out of the basket.
I remembered the smoked turkey we had in the meat locker from Easter and started fantasizing about eating a leg, just standing in the kitchen and taking it by hand.
And I thought back to when I was 19, and what I could remember of that: The Cure had released Disintegration and a roommate had the CD.
The problem started with the awareness that the days were blurring together with little to set them apart.