Caterwauling

I read an EW article about Jackson and April (“Japril”) from Grey’s Anatomy, how their love story happened in the margins.

I was never a fan of the two together, a wildly successful surgeon and an uptight Christian girl who ran out on her wedding to another uptight Christian to pursue her love affair with Jackson. (Although that was a good episode.) But the phrase stuck with me.

The point was that their story evolved over several seasons, in the margins of viewers’ minds while the show focused on other characters and crises. One day they gravitated to each other and we wondered how we hadn’t seen it coming all along.

I think about how that applies to our own lives. I’ve had a lot of instant connections as well as a few carefully cultivated ones.

But it’s the ones that evolved organically … the ones where you see someone looking at you and wonder wow, was that there all along and we missed it until now?

Those were some of the best ones.

Which makes it so hard to NOT look in the margins again.

As if lightning could ever strike twice in the same place.

As if margin can’t amplify your losses as much as your joys.

As if you could ever find meaning in the text when the best stuff is what you were inspired to scrawl.

As if anyone could ever understand feeling so moved to ruin a perfectly good book with that flash of something great.

Even a flash was all it was ever meant to be … and even if it wasn’t.

I was at a doc recently and a daughter left a VM that the nurses played where I could hear it.

She tearfully said her mom just passed and thank you for her care.

The doc who heard it shrugged. “It was time for her to go.”

Good to know they view us as so disposable.

Maybe don’t say it in a suite full of sick people, though.

“I gotta ask you, how long do you plan to keep wearing that mask?”

That was from Peppermint Patty here at Fraggle Rock.

“Another one to two years,” I said.

Her partner, Salmon Patty, said, “May I ask why you wear a mask?”

“I’m immunocompromised. And it signals to people to give me space.”

Salmon Patty said, “Well I am immunocompromised and obese. I never once wore a mask and I’m fine.”

Salmon and Peppermint both rattled off how many times they’ve had COVID and they are still here. One vaxxed, one not.

Because I am who I am, I said, “I am happy you got through it and you are doing well now.”

Also because I am who I am, I might have bragged, “I had it exactly zero times.”

Salmon and Peppermint bragged that it was nothing and we don’t know why everyone was so afraid of nothing.

I got away from them as fast as I could. But it’s still bugging me.

Maybe it’s because the number of deaths that hit me personally is now on two hands. And the list of long-haul symptoms from others I know gets weirder by the week.

Or maybe it’s that when I said I am glad you are OK now, it would have been nice for them to say I’m glad that you are OK too.

Anyway. I don’t have high expectations of these people. I’m just glad they haven’t tried pushing their way into my elevator like so many others have.

Maybe though they can take a moment and tell The Others, hey, this shit isn’t over for some people. Show them some decency if you can’t cough up anything resembling respect.

My D.C. friends called me for our annual February “reunion.”

I almost didn’t go because, Covid. But I didn’t see them last year. And I really do enjoy seeing them.

When I went to meet them, I got a surprise in the form of another friend. This one I haven’t seen since she came down here to stay with me over a decade ago.

My friends gave us access to a conference room and she and I talked All Day yesterday.

We laughed and cried and reminisced but really talked about things that are happening now.

We took photos and you can tell I was crying all day but she looks great. You can’t even tell she’s worried about someone in the hospital back home.

She didn’t know that I hired a gal a couple of years ago because she reminded me of her. The gal became an instant friend and I enjoy her so much.

I was right — they not only look alike, but have the same big heart and crazy work ethic. My old friend said OK show me a photo because I want to see the new me.

I also got to hang out with a well-known journalist. And the reason I did was because someone at this event told me, she wants to meet you so get over there now.

She was wonderful. Elegant. The picture of grace.

Really, all the wives of my former writers are class acts. Truly remarkable, sophisticated, articulate and accomplished women.

It’s breathtaking, really, getting to hang out with such high-quality people again.

I’d forgotten what that’s like.

It was so good to be with my people, old and new.

This is what Covid robbed of us for too long.

I still didn’t use elevators or anything. Too peopley. But I needed and gave hugs. Lots and lots of those.

I’m quarantining after enjoying a day out in the wild. Here’s hoping I didn’t bring anything home except a heart that’s a lot lighter than it was 24 hours ago.

I did something I haven’t done in a while on a weekday.

I enjoyed it.

Literally, that’s what I did. Enjoyed my damn day.

I had a long meeting in the morning and a long one late in the day. But I took the middle part to simply enjoy myself.

Don’t get me wrong. The morning and the afternoon meetings weren’t fun. But net-net, the day was a win.

The best part was we were talking honestly about some shit that went down last year. And I got a good reminder from this eye-witness that a lot of it was far beyond my control. All I could really do is handle it with grace.

One day I’ll tell the stories. Still trying to do the gracious thing there.

I don’t have many friends. They always prove themselves to be anything but. So it’s nice to have real moments with people who are here who were also there.

There are a lot of opinions about “And Just Like That,” the SATC reboot.

I’ll say yes, it’s outlandish and dark. But as an original fan of the HBO series and not the “SATC-light” episodes that air on E! with no sex, swearing or sense, I will say that it’s been pretty satisfying overall to see where my girls ended up.

In any event, I think we can all agree that the music is on point.

Carrie and Mr. Big were dancing to one of my all-time favorites in the season opener, “Hello It’s Me.” And we heard the song throughout the 10-episode season.

Made me think of one of MY Mr. Bigs.

My own (first?) “John Preston” also died. Probably at the same age.

I know this because his daughter reached out to me recently to tell me.

Which, truth be told, my heart knew when it happened.

She was reading our old emails. Which, I don’t even know if I still have. Probably not, because I’m not all that sentimental.

Or maybe I do and I’m just afraid to remember those days.

He was in Arlington and I was in Alexandria. We went to the theater and museums and cafes and beer gardens.

So the story goes, I got a job in Rockville and never had time for anything but interstate commutes and way-too-long workdays.

Mostly true.

The rest of the truth is, our age gap felt so big then. And here was another guy with kids — his daughter was running her high school theater troupe and his son was starting to show signs of not being as independent as his dad hoped he would be.

(Um, hello THEME.)

His son eventually found his way. And his daughter has babies of her own now.

She sent me photos of the son she named after her dad.

I told her some stories she would appreciate and maybe remember, of times spent with them. Things I can’t even vaguely describe here without them becoming easily Googlable.

I didn’t tell her about those heady days when it was just us.

Nor did I admit I thought there’d be a better match for me out there if I would just free myself up for it.

We did stay Facebook friends. Although when I saw him go to the mat and defend a tRumper’s right to tRump, I deleted him.

I mean, that was SO HIM. He was in the service (the Air Force?) so hell yes, he fought to defend our right to do whatever the fuck it is we want to do.

But I just couldn’t support letting trumpers trump. And I will defend MY right to do that, till the bitter end.

He sent me a new friend request that I ignored.

I don’t know that we would have been close again.

But I heard “Hello It’s Me” today, as I have many times. And I remembered sitting in the IHOP with him in Del Ray (not to be confused with the Delray where I live now), having coffee and talking about the black-and-white movie we’d just watched at some Smithsonian or another.

He was the one who’d pointed out the song. He knew I needed to fly. That a middle-aged guy with kids and a “lifer” job with the government wasn’t enough for me. That he was at peace with his lot in life and didn’t expect the same from me.

Funny I’d end up gravitating to similar situations. Where suddenly the age gap didn’t seem so big. Where it still might not have been enough but I was willing to entertain that it could very well end up being more.

I know we end up repeating the same situations until we get them right.

But I can’t help but wonder (H/T Carrie), if what’s meant for you won’t pass you by, what happens if it comes around again and you still don’t know what to do with it?

Was driving today, listening to this song. And a not-new revelation hit me like a second car that thought the light turned green but didn’t.

I pay for this site.

I have paid for it since 2001.

I hide from this site so as not to give (insert nickname of the day) any more shit to co-opt as their own or claim somehow offends their anything-but-delicate sensibilities.

Well, in the immortal words of Cee Lo Green, “Fuck you and fuck her too.”

In any event, today I was working on a blog post in my head about a song that came on.

And I was thinking, how to I wordsmith it so that some wild bore doesn’t sic someone on me in the unlikely event that it was about the person who would be dispatched to do the siccing.

As if that person would even give a semblance of a shit that I was writing about them. Christ, they’ve never had such poetry written about them as I have produced for them. They’d be insane not to be glad that someone with a grasp of grammar thought so much of them.

Then I heard this Kenny Chesney song come on. Which, I admit, has often made me think of the one who would do the siccing.

And I remembered telling them I pay for this site. I also remembered my sister telling me if he’d just restrain that wild bore, we wouldn’t have problems.

Heh. I just heard in my head the wild bore saying this is a threat somehow. That I am dreaming up an electric fence and hoping they rub up against it.

Which, put that in your stories. It’s alllll yours. And don’t @ me.

“After all you put me through, no, you don’t get to.”

I only met J. once, at a beachside memorial ceremony.

I was friends with his mom. I hadn’t seen her for a while before that. Sadly, I haven’t seen her much after that, either. But wow, was this a momma who loved her only son.

I don’t know how she’s alive right now. I really don’t. How much can one human be expected to take?

The world isn’t big enough to hold the best of us. It’s like God likes to ensure that the angel-to-asshole ratio remains at a constant 1-to-1.

Another sweet light turned off too soon.

I hope I’m not writing about my friend next.

In person wedding.

Online memorial.

Another death I can’t wrap my head around.

Holidays, man.

I know today’s full moon in Leo can be an emotional one. (Since when are Lions emotional?) But, damn.

I went to the pet store last night, as one does 10 times a week with all the little befanged and toofless mouths one feeds three times a day.

As always, I checked in on Caleb and Piper.

Only … Piper was gone and Caleb wouldn’t even look up at me the three times I passed by.

These two have been in my heart since some twits failed to adopt Caleb away from the brother with whom he was bonded.

Every subsequent visit, those two cuddle bugs were wrapped up in each other in a small carrier.

I couldn’t believe someone didn’t grab them both. But then again, we are in the store because we already have our own zoos at home.

Now it was Piper with the unusual markings who has a new home, and sweet Caleb was without someone to love in a cold cage under bright lights.

I tell my good kitties Cocoa and Bella to be grateful that Magic is such a handful. Because I love me a good gray kitty and I would have plunked down whatever it takes to give him a home.

Seriously, who breaks up bonded pairs? Who LETS them? Is it the rescue that sponsors them? Is it the kids who run the store? Or am I just too sensitive and we should be grateful that at least one has humans to call his own?