Day 23, self quarantine: Day 23, really?
Yesterday was challenging. I kept getting booted off the office remote system every five minutes while I was working on something important. I am not going to go into it any further except to say I repeatedly banged my head on the desk until Gary, who must have had ESP, came upstairs for a visit with Jake the paralegal dog and an offer of warm almond biscuits and a fresh pot of coffee.
Warm biscuits make everything better. At least in my world.
I’m pretty happy.
Others, it would seem, not so much.
I can’t help but notice that after almost a month of quarantine, you can gauge a lot of relationships by how anguished their Facebook posts are. It’s pretty obvious that a lot of couples are spending their first real alone time together and there are surprises, not all good.
Hey, after a hundred years of marriage, we’ve gotten some surprises here, too...or should I say some new information...about each other as well. It’s kind of cool, actually.
After our first week home, I learned my husband is a juvenile delinquent. It turns out I can’t make calls to clients with Gary in the room. Don’t even ask. Somehow I didn’t break up laughing in the middle of asking Ms. H about her cervical fusion or advising an elderly brain injured gentleman to make sure he wore his helmet even while riding an indoor
Oh, sure I did. We both are.
And of course Gary is now asking me for medical advice every chance he gets “since I didn’t realize you’re a doctor.”
But yeah, he does give me weird looks while I’m working. He’s used to a very different person at home, Robbie, his wacky partner in music, food, and crime. He’s never really met the adult me, which I think is most excellent since I’m not really crazy about her, either, and only trot her out at work.
Anyway, another thing that’s insane is after all this time together, there’s still secrets and stories we haven’t told each other.
Or, um, inadvertently discovered or blabbed during a wasted late night confessional.
“Sure you did, dude.”
“I did! He gave me that special screwdriver I have on my keychain!”
Wut?
“Seriously, Gary? Mario Andretti gave you a special screwdriver?” I was laughing so hard I was almost peeing myself. Gary got all indignant.
“Why would I make that up?”
He had a point. But still.
“How do I not know this? Let me see it!”
“My keys are on the table. Go look if you don’t believe me, Dr. Rob.”
Damn, there it was.
“So you had breakfast with Mario Andretti? How did that happen? And how am I just hearing about it now?”
Of course I had heard abridged variations of that story before - I was around back then, too, but I was a self absorbed young teenager person and up until yesterday, Gary never talked about it in such historical detail and how did I miss the screwdriver on his keychain for 50 years?
It turns out meeting Mário Andretti was the least interesting part of Gary’s story. At least to me, anyway.
Who knew?
Damn, we’re talking a lot these days.
When I came downstairs to have my biscuits, Gary was listening to the radio and watching television with the sound off. Some old guy wearing a fancy sweatsuit, was standing next to a race car and being interviewed.
“What the hell are you watching?” I asked.
“You don’t recognize him? That’s my buddy, Mario.”
“Mario Andretti?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, he’s your buddy now?”
“Hey, I did have breakfast with him.”
When I came downstairs to have my biscuits, Gary was listening to the radio and watching television with the sound off. Some old guy wearing a fancy sweatsuit, was standing next to a race car and being interviewed.
“What the hell are you watching?” I asked.
“You don’t recognize him? That’s my buddy, Mario.”
“Mario Andretti?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, he’s your buddy now?”
“Hey, I did have breakfast with him.”
Wut?
“Sure you did, dude.”
“I did! He gave me that special screwdriver I have on my keychain!”
Wut?
“Seriously, Gary? Mario Andretti gave you a special screwdriver?” I was laughing so hard I was almost peeing myself. Gary got all indignant.
“Why would I make that up?”
He had a point. But still.
“How do I not know this? Let me see it!”
“My keys are on the table. Go look if you don’t believe me, Dr. Rob.”
Damn, there it was.
“So you had breakfast with Mario Andretti? How did that happen? And how am I just hearing about it now?”
Oh my lord, I had to ask.
He then commenced to tell me an Alice’s Restaurant type epic tale spanning six years, beginning with Gary as a wide-eyed little boy who idolized his racist, bigoted, staunch Republican father, and their yearly epic, drunken 15 hour marathon drives to the Indianapolis 500, beginning in 1963, just months before Kennedy’s assassination, to their final trip in 1969 just months before Woodstock, when militant liberal hippie Gary brought along an ounce of pot tucked in his overnight bag, walked 25 feet behind his dad at all times, stayed stoned 24/7, and dreamed of running away from home to live on a commune.
He then commenced to tell me an Alice’s Restaurant type epic tale spanning six years, beginning with Gary as a wide-eyed little boy who idolized his racist, bigoted, staunch Republican father, and their yearly epic, drunken 15 hour marathon drives to the Indianapolis 500, beginning in 1963, just months before Kennedy’s assassination, to their final trip in 1969 just months before Woodstock, when militant liberal hippie Gary brought along an ounce of pot tucked in his overnight bag, walked 25 feet behind his dad at all times, stayed stoned 24/7, and dreamed of running away from home to live on a commune.
Of course I had heard abridged variations of that story before - I was around back then, too, but I was a self absorbed young teenager person and up until yesterday, Gary never talked about it in such historical detail and how did I miss the screwdriver on his keychain for 50 years?
It turns out meeting Mário Andretti was the least interesting part of Gary’s story. At least to me, anyway.
(The breakfast was really a banquet a couple days before the race, similar to what we now call meet and greets, and the screwdriver was a promotional gift to all paying attendees.)
I was writing the novel the whole time Gary was talking. There’s some real meaty, beefy bouncy stuff there 😎
Who knew?
Not me, apparently.
These are interesting times, huh.
These are interesting times, huh.
