Quicksand

Last night when I couldn’t sleep—and yes I’m back to that again because I stopped listening to my husband’s assurances that Donald will never be president again and I seriously don’t think I will survive if that happens—anyway, last night when I was staring into that 2:00 am darkness with the pit of fear in my belly, I started reminiscing on being a kid growing up in the sixties and what terrified me back then.

My number one fear, and I don’t say this lightly, was falling into quicksand and being swallowed up.

Never mind that I grew up in a fully developed residential Philadelphia neighborhood. I was convinced every puddle was a death trap.

Clearly, I watched a lot of cartoons.  I mean, I have no other explanation. Which brings me to my number two fear, that a masked robber would climb up a ladder and open the bedroom window directly above my headboard, jump in and steal my Barbie dolls, and hit me over the head and try to kill me so I couldn’t identify him in a lineup.

Never mind that our home was a two story row house, the back of which was on an incline and faced another row of two story houses…in other words, no one could climb up said ladder without being noticed but it’s moot because no one would want to.  The neighborhood was basically lower middle class, which in the sixties meant your annual income was around $10,000.

To be honest, I didn’t even have real Barbies, I had mostly dime store knockoffs.

Heh.  The dime store.

Oy I am so old.

My final fear was being bombed by the communists, but only because we had air raid drills at school where we had to huddle in the gym.  I have to admit, I wasn’t nearly as afraid of the atomic bomb as quicksand and burglars since I was pretty sure between the cement windowless walls of the basement gym and staying quiet and perfectly still like the teacher instructed, I would be safe from nuclear disaster.

Anyway, this morning in the light of day I don’t feel as anxious, I know as long as I stay away from the news and live one day at a time, I will be fine.

I’m not gonna worry about Donald, anyway.  And my husband assures me that our Social Security checks won’t stop next month when the evil Republican Congress tries to cause a default because President Joe will save us.

Okay, whatever you say, but aren’t you also the person who’s been telling me since January 7, 2021 that Donald is going to jail?

Oh well. Like I said, I’m really not gonna worry about that or anything.  I can’t, I will go insane.

I’m gonna enjoy my Mother’s Day weekend and eat lots of cake and french fries.

I just really wanted to share my fear of quicksand.

Khachapuri!

So as if Gary didn’t have an awesome enough week in Seattle, last night our friend Sandra hosted a dinner party with fellow guitar crafties Igor and Curt at her extraordinary digs on the water. 

Igor is from Georgia so the menu included khachapuri, something I was not familiar with but now have to have immediately and I know there’s both a stand in the Reading Terminal and a new restaurant Sakartvelo that looks amazing at 7th and Chestnut so yes, khachapuri will soon be mine!   

https://www.saamisomi.com/

https://sakartvelo-restaurant.business.site/

After dinner the guitars came out and it was glorious.

The only time I have ever heard or seen Gary this happy is when he goes to Three of a Perfect Pair music camp in the summer.

I reminded him he could easily be this happy all the time, especially with the other half of our family in Nashville a/k/a music city.  

He didn’t say No like he usually does.  

Not by a longshot.

I’m telling you, my six months in each city plan is doable.  

Stay tuned 😎.

Today in Seattle

 

In this afternoon’s Seattle adventure, Gary was enlisted to fill in for an unavailable player on Julie’s softball team.

Gary:  “I played 3rd base and Julie played 2nd base and we turned a double play!”

Me:  “Oh my god, you’re kidding!”

Gary:  “Well, the ump said he was safe at 2nd base but trust me, he was out.”

Me, trying not to laugh:  “Did you guys at least win?”

Gary:  “No, and I got hurt twice.”

Me:  “What?!  Are you okay?  What happened?”

Gary:  “I hit the ball and fell flat on my face running to 1st base.  I ripped my pants and tore up my knee.”

Me, with literal tears of laughter dripping down my face but only because he started it and was laughing, too:  “But you’re okay?”

Gary:  “Yeah, I’m fine.  I just need some Advil and a bandage.  So then, I’m fielding at 3rd base, and the runner on 2nd ran into me trying to reach 3rd and knocked me down.  I couldn’t believe it.”

Me, at this point gasping for air laughing: “Again? Again you fell? But you’re fine, right?  Right? Because you sound fine.  Otherwise I wouldn’t be laughing like this.”

He’s fine.

Maybe you had to be me getting this call to find it hilarious, though now in retrospect I’m like holy hell, he’s 69, maybe he shouldn’t be doing stuff like this anymore.

Nah.  We’ve spent the last three years on the sofa.  Screw worrying.  And anyway, 69 is the new…whatever 😎

Fuck off

 Another day, another outrage.  Don’t worry, I’m on it.

Oy

Okay, I am now at the pathetic “taking selfies to prove I exist” stage of my solitude during Gary’s trip to Seattle.   Nah, I just really wanted to show you my awesome new haircut.  Love you, @sharkykorban 😎. (Snip Salon)

Also, I lost 3 pounds while Gary’s away.  My cardiologist is gonna be so happy.  Down to 130 pounds!

Status

Welp, pretty sure I have no remaining fingerprints on my left hand, which will come in handy if Donald slithers back in and I have to go on the lam when his secret police come to arrest me. Because yes I made the dog a hamburger and then I smoked a joint which was too big and too strong for just one person and then I somehow decided it was okay to reach into the oven without a potholder and literally stuck my entire left hand on the red hot broiler thingee. Yes I screamed and immediately stuck my hand under water and yes I have blisters.  And here I thought I was simply going to accidentally cut myself and bleed to death this week while my husband’s away thanks to being on blood thinners that make me have to always make sure I’m near bandaids.  Oh my god, I hemorrhage from a paper cut.

Oh well.  I’m too wounded to even heat up dinner, I’m gonna order a vodka pizza.  I’m not even lying, it’s from a place in the hood and it’s most excellent.  Vodka pizza.  When you want to eat your drink.

Four more days til Gary comes home.

All by myself

 Can I just say something?

After being all by myself the past two days while my husband is in Seattle, I have new respect and compassion for anyone who lives alone, especially anyone older like me.

I’m fucking humbled.

Jesus Christ, I’m sitting here talking to myself.

You don’t even want to know what goes through my head when I don’t have anyone around.  My post pandemic new self is weird and terrified by everything and probably needs therapy.

Gary used to go away to music camp for a week in August every year and I used to look forward to it.  I’d order dinner every night from expensive restaurants on Grubhub or meet friends for cocktails.  Sometimes I’d stay up all night and watch the Food Network.

I have zero desire to do any of that, though on the plus side, I’ve taken Jasper for 97 walks, cleaned and reorganized the kitchen, and edited the first couple chapters of my novel.

Speaking of novels, Daddy Left Me Alone with God is available in paperback again and ebook if there’s anyone left who still wants to read it. I have an interesting new publisher 😎

https://books2read.com/u/m2qLo7

Anyway, listening to Richard and Teddy Thompson singing Persuasion and REM’s Try Not to Breathe on my YouTube shuffle probably isn’t helping things.  I should put on dance music and twirl Jasper around the living room.

Oy.

Gary left me dinners for the week so food isn’t on my mind, either, no restaurant cooks vegetarian food like he does.  Last night I ate rigatoni with spinach, artichokes, tomatoes and feta in white wine butter sauce; tonight I have fusilli with pesto, potatoes and peas.

Grubhub who?

Okay, that’s it for me.  I’m gonna see if I can incorporate some of this emotion into my new novel, which is officially now called Leaving Candyland.

But yeah, I’m feeling really humbled.  

When Gary Met Billie

 

Oh my god

Remember when I said yesterday Gary and I are so much alike?  Omg, what a lie.  I have such anxiety right now…5:15 a.m., he just left for the airport with no time to spare, and as of 20 minutes ago, he wasn’t even packed.  He literally had an empty suitcase.  Omg omg omg, I need to go breathe in a paper bag.

I have questions

 

***ETA. SEE POSTSCRIPT 

Disclaimer:  This photo of Jasper is everything which is why I’m posting it but it has nothing to do with anything in my thoughts today 😎

So tomorrow Gary leaves for a week in Seattle to hang out with Julie.

I have a serious question.

Should I use the time alone with Jasper to:  

(1) Marie Kondo/Swedish Death Clean this entire house, a once in a lifetime opportunity and something I’ve tried unsuccessfully for Gary to do with me since the pandemic.  I have to say it weighs heavily on me, it keeps me up at night, I don’t want the kids stuck with 50 years of stuff if god forbid anything happens to us.  

Or, 

(2) Edit the first full length novel I’ve written and been (sorta) happy with in the last ten years?  I’m way excited about it because it explores a favorite topic of mine these days, dealing with growing older while maintaining a strong sense of humor.  If you don’t, you’re not going to enjoy whatever’s left of your life.  

I mean, I’ve noticed there’s usually two types of retired people, (a) those who want to do, do, do 24/7 and have second careers, travel, and (b) those who are like Hey, I worked for 50 years and raised a family, leave me the fuck alone, I’m perfectly happy vegging out and have zero goals other than waking up breathing.

Gary and I are 100% (b).  

Writing is something I have done every day since I’m a kid, it’s as natural as breathing so I never consider it work and it sure as hell doesn’t make me an (a).

But I started thinking, what if I wasn’t like that? What if I were an (a) and Gary was a (b)?  

It would be horrible for both people, so naturally my brain went there.

But it could also be funny.

What if they had a child who was a celebrity chef in a celebrity romance so the novel wasn’t just about boomers and I could also spend a lot of time talking about food and how much parents should or should not be involved in their adult children’s lives.

The novel just wrote itself.

Anyway, those are my two choices.  I’m not entertaining any other ideas, I need to be totally committed to whatever I choose.

Okay, back to helping Gary pack.

***POSTSCRIPT

Gary:  You’re not going to do anything stupid while I’m gone, are you?

Me:

Gary:  What are you planning?

Me:  I’m going to edit my novel 

Gary:  What else?

Me, looking at my feet:

Gary:  Please don’t try and lift or move stuff and please don’t throw anything out without me.

Me:  WHYYYY 

Gary:  Because you’re on 5 different medications for your wonky heart and you take blood thinners.  If you have a heart attack or cut yourself and bleed to death, who will feed Jasper?

Me, now terrified (not really but I have to say, neither thought occurred to me, especially bleeding):  Okay, I will just work on my novel.

Which is really what I wanted to do, anyway 😎