A Glass of Merlot (and Hershel)

Over a glass of Merlot she confessed: It never occurred to me when I took that part time job all those years ago that I would end up as the breadwinner of the family.

She had envisioned something different for herself—a scheduled weekly facial rather than a scheduled weekly checkbook massage.

An economic downturn could not have been predicted in her forecast.

She resented her circumstance.

And what we learn from the AMC’s series The Walking Dead is this: In a post-apocalyptic world, sometimes you must ram steel through the skulls of zombies. Sometimes must leave the safety of your prison to forage for food and medicine. Sometimes you must blow away human invaders with a 12 gauge shot gun to protect your safe haven.

Because as Hershel, the moral compass of the show reminds: We all have a job to do.

We don’t always get to choose our sacrifice, we only get to choose what we sacrifice for.

In a zombie-filled world (or not) sometimes you just have to do what you have to do.

Sometimes you must step away from your own desires to see the greater good.

You must forfeit your dreams and live in the now.

Because everyone’s survival depends on it.

Pity Party

It is one of the reasons I love her so much.

We share a common lens.

Because when this friend learned that an implanted device failed and that a painful complicated surgery awaited her, she did not invite me to a pity party.

Instead, she invited me to a celebration.

She said things could be so much worse—and that the overworked device had afforded her ample service.

I wholeheartedly agreed.

And while our positive mindset may be construed as odd or lacking sympathetic notes, we see it as practicality.

For us, falls hold less import than resurrections.

Problems are merely un-thought-of solutions in disguise.

And pity is just not our idea of a party.

I Think I'll Pass

I admit that my heart began to beat a little bit faster.

For a hot New York second I thought opportunity was knocking.

The employment ad was placed not just in the Garden City News but was also    reposted on Facebook as well.

It seemed the local newpaper, a.k.a. the town rag, was looking for a part time reporter.

I thought with confidence and humility: I could do that—afterall  it  wasn’t the NY Times or the Washington Post. I surely had enough skill. And certainly I had enough writing samples to submit with my resume.

I was nearly intoxicated with the thought-- I imagined sitting ona  sofa at some point in the future with Katie Couric describing how I went from being a blogger to a reporter to a Pulitzer Prize winning Edward R. Murrow journalist.

My award had been  won by finally exposing Who shot Kennedy?

I was an icon sure to be on the cover of Time magazine.

And then I snapped back into reality.

It occurred to me that the ad said I would be obligated to attend Board of Education and Village Board meetings----which was definitely a problem: they are held at 8 pm on week nights. By 8 pm on weeknights I am already in my comfy clothes and on the couch with a blanket.  And I am pretty sure that if I wore my comfy clothes with a blanket at a BOE or village meeting they might disregard me as a homeless mental patient rather than a serious reporter.

But there were added issues—even more troublesome than attire. I suspected that reporters were supposed to sit quietly and not publically call into question audience members or elected persons for their non-sequiturs during the proceedings ---it just wasn’t the forum.

Furthermore I also would think that the conservative editor of the Garden City News might edit out my very succinct yet descriptive nouns as they related to a sporadic few of the attendees on either side of the table: narcissist, buffoon, charlatan, autocrat.

My style might be too Comedy Central and not enough NBC Nightly News—my reporting might have way too much snark and bark instead of vanilla bathed in vanilla.

My personality tilts more towards Jon Stewart than Brian Williams.

And so I chose to pass on the opportunity--it wasn’t a knock as much as a thud. I am pretty sure that The Garden City News would not embrace me or my truth. And so at least for now, Karenland will remain my immediate destination, and Katie Couric will have to find a different well imagined couch to sit on.

Snow Day

The house was always dark.

The only sounds to be heard were that of the hot air heat blowing gently through the wall vents as well as the cool wind rattling the not-quite-so-perfectly sealed storm windows.

And when the phone rang hours before wake up time I was never alarmed. In fact the telephone call was met with gleeful excitation.

The interrupted sleep meant only one thing: Yonkers Public schools were closing due to inclement weather. The buses could not run. And what could be extrapolated was that if Yonkers schools had shut their doors, so too had all the other neighboring school districts.

It was a snow day.

Like all the other kids, I had received a double gift: an impromptu day off from school plus playtime with the accumulated precipitation.

And when I opened my eyes Friday morning and looked out from my bed at the munnions of my neighbor’s windows, all I could see was white fluff piled at angles.

No phone call was necessary to determine the fate of this day.

So I got out of bed and invited Cosmo to stand on his hindlegs to peer out of the frosty panes on to the street.

His tail immediately began to wag as he excitedly  made the sweetest sound: Arrr!!!

Translated from dogspeak to English it means Whoa---when did that happen?!!!

He then ran down the stairs with his red ball in his mouth and rang the green bell hanging on my patio door. He begged to be let outside.

Upon release he leapt in and out of the drifts, ran circles in the yard, and licked the clean abundant snow.

And while I tend to see snowfall nowadays through the eyes of an adult: a transportation difficulty event—an inconvenience---a rate limiting step;  seeing the unbridled joy and unleashed spirit in my dog reminded me of only one thing: Snow is a gifted toy from heaven---- and children and dogs are the conduit of its grace.