I’ve heard everything now. A friend’s daughter is hosting movie nights with her buddies via computer. Don’t ask how they’re doing it, I haven’t a clue, but they have dinner together and then sit back and relax and watch the movie. I’m sure a lot of people are doing this. What an ingenious way to stay together. It’s like having family when you want it without the drama. Clever.
I have to think of something like this with my siblings, but it won’t work. We can’t agree on anything, especially what movie to watch. It’s the same with music. This forced lockdown is making me guilty that I’m not putting aside my differences in order to re-engage with them. But I know better. I spoke with a neighbor today and she’s going through old photographs of herself with her family. That might work, but I’m afraid it would bring up all sorts of things we’d rather leave buried, like the dog that disappeared, and that scar we’d rather not talk about.
One thing that might bring us together is to talk about funny memories we all lived through and see how each remembers them. It might make us realize we lived a totally different life from each other even while in the same house sharing the same DNA. Like the time we almost set the kitchen on fire. Or when we painted the bathroom blue instead of red and who was to blame for the color mix-up.
One thing is for sure. We’d all remember the pets we had. Especially the flamingos.
Calvin says, “Flamingos? Now I know you’re making this up.”
I’m eating leftover deviled eggs and freezing. There’s a cold wind whipping the dead leaves into swirls today. The kind of weather that belongs on the east coast, not here. What’s happening to this side of the country? This is California, not Connecticut.
The deviled eggs, well I made too many this week and my guests didn’t eat them all. They left them for me to do that. Calvin, of course, is too eager to oblige, but I know better. He’ll rip one or two or three throughout the day that make me want to fumigate the house. He gets a bone instead.
Alf is buried in blankets, Calvin is under the bed comforter with only his tail showing, and I’m at the computer dashing this off. A rather inauspicious end of the year, I admit, but I’ve never been one for noisy cocktail parties with fireworks in the background. That’s better left for Hollywood, or New York City, or maybe Paris. And since I’m not there, I’m happy to huddle by the fire, even if it’s a spare-the-day day, reading my book, and saying cheers to all of you. Thank you for visiting my blog this year and being a gracious readership. Happy New Year to you!
Calvin says, “I read your blog, too. It’s time to give me a starring role. I want more lines. I need a make-up artist. My own chair with my name on it. And I certainly need better food. Including eggs.”
At a cafe. Lunch break. Two techies drinking coffee and talking.
Techie 1: You have no patience for obvious arguments. You want the different, the new, the next creative idea.
Techie 2: I want the real.
Techie 1: What if it’s not out there?
Techie 2: The real is always out there, even if I have to invent it.
Techie 1: If it’s invented then it’s not real.
Techie 2: People with no imaginations say that. Where did the laptop come from? Fifty years ago it wasn’t real.
Techie 1: I was thinking mountains, storms, earthquakes. That’s real. Could there be categories for real?
Techie 2: I guess. Maybe theory vs absoluteness. The laptop started as a theory but became an absolute.
Techie 1: And an earthquake is an absolute and will never be a theory. We’re talking origins.
Techie 2 – checking his cell phone: That’s way too philosophical for me.
Calvin says, “Good grief. That’s enough to scramble my beagle brains. How about we talk farts and bad doggie breath? Now that’s real.”