Zombie Apocalypse

I had a marvelous day, a fabulous day. . . for awhile.  

We can get to that.  I have paused Dry January and popped the cork on the bottle of Veuve Cliquot with my mother.  It is magnificent. 

But the day. . . .  I stuck around the house with my mother until after noon as it was 34 degrees in the morning and I wanted to wait for the warmest part of the day to do my outdoor gymnastics.  And they were wonderful.  I am actually doing an old man's stumbly run again for feet if not yards at a time.  I feel absolutely athletic.  The sun was shining and it was almost fifty degrees and I felt more alive than I have in a very long time.  

But the day was more than that.  Messages.  Many messages.  Factory workers, old flames, and MOTL, too.  I may be devolving and lonesome, but on this day I was not (completely) forgotten.  

O.K. O.K. . .  I initiated all of it.  It's not like people were thinking of me until I made them.  Still. . . some responded.  Some bitter old fuckheads. . . well. . . I should absolutely let that go.  

Nevertheless, I felt good, and Red said she showed some of my "work" to a friend of hers who owns an art gallery in Beverly Hills.  She said he was interested and I should send ten to twenty "family friendly" works.  

"Whose family?" I asked.  

I have no confidence that it will work out, but it was a nice gesture.  

At four, however, I had a call from my mother.  

"Where are you?!?"

She sounded lost.  I was running errands, picking up her meds at the pharmacy, getting groceries. . . .  I am going to need to get some help, some people who can stay with her when I'm gone. . . even for a few hours in the daytime.  I will begin working on that first thing next week.  

When I got back to her house with all the drugs and groceries, as I was putting tomorrow's fifteen bean dinner and ham with potatoes, carrots, celery, and spinach away. . . I remembered I'd forgotten to get what I needed to make dinner.  

Another trip to the store.  

Dinner.  I tried talking to mother, but she can't hear a word I say.  

After dinner she said she was cold.  She was wandering around in her walker.  

Fuck it.  Why am I telling this?  

I watched Season Five, Episode Six of "Emily in Paris" last night.  Don't judge me.  It is like watching "I Love Lucy" in color.  To my point.  It was the 4th of July and she was at the American Embassy watching the fireworks--just like tonight--and I remembered that I was at the American Embassy in Paris for a reception when I presented a paper at the Hemingway/Fitzgerald Conference there.  I never think about it, but it was a nice memory.  Had drinks with the Ambassador, etc.   High falutin.  

Once upon a time.  

Now. . . 

I made silly videos for NYE today while I was sitting in my mother's house with nothing but a small laptop computer.  There were a bunch of clips I thought I might put together, but using Grok, it was impossible.  Individually, they were fun, but there was no hope of connecting them, at least by me.  Feel free to use them if you want.  

 

 

 I did make one that I will show you eventually.  But I am hoping that this next year will be better than the last. Fat chance.  Trump, Minneapolis, Gaza, Ukraine, Taiwan, Venezuela. . . the list is long.  Then there is RFK Jr. and the whole new pandemic.  Rich republicans are buying guns.  Trust me.  I know.  And if Trump dies, it gets worse.  Vance has tiny horns, but they will grow.  It is difficult to be optimistic.  

Still, I'll beat the pots and pans.  What else can we do?  We are still primitive creatures.  

O.K.  I told you I would post, and I told you it would be stupid.  Still, I have my obsessions.  Peace be with you my homies, and walk on the sunny side of the street.  The zombie apocalypse is upon us.  

Happy New Year!