This morning as he began to work on a piece by Mozart at my behest, Adam blithely informed me the legendary composer was fond of making poop jokes with his family and friends but I was incredulous so he proved it to me. Well, I had no inkling but find it strangely reassuring (and frankly, far less off-putting than Beethoven keeping his chamberpot underneath his piano).
After dinnertime, I requested Adam’s company for an evening stroll in the Arboretum, it was refreshing yet somewhat chillier than either one of us anticipated, doubtless a product of spending far more time in the climate-controlled indoors as a result of the global pandemic which has swept across our community. The timing of tonight’s stroll was fortuitous as we gamely avoided other persons who might unintentionally, oafishly or just plain inconsiderately endanger the six foot radius which is vital for personal safety at a time like this. Perchance we should cross paths with anyone it was mutually agreed upon that we’d either dive headfirst into the bushes or spin about our heels, fast-walking in the opposite direction with purpose, not making too huge a deal about it because there’s no point in making anyone more uncomfortable during such a horrible time.
On the walk through the Arboretum, we talked a lot about the use of the n-word in Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Tom Sawyer which he just finished last weekend and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, the book he’s currently reading, and its relation to contemporary cultural contexts. This afternoon he was pleased to inform his aunt who is a foremost connoisseur of literature and film that not only has he recently completed Frank Herbert’s Dune but that he watched the Godforsaken horrendous movie the very same night, against my advice.
Searching the rubble pile of our unfinished basement this afternoon in vain for an n95 mask in the hopes that I could send it to my sister who is a nurse in the intensive care unit of a regional hospital which has run out of masks for nurses and doctors, I came to the discouraging conclusion that it must have been used up several years ago while I was cleaning up the remaining petrified rat turds out of the nooks of the pony walls, from that horrible, epic infestation of our home during the hard winter of 2008, when the basement doubled as a rat nightclub during evening hours and a day-use center center during the day for those rodents with missing teeth and desensitivity to light.
Finally, this frame features a point of stubby rock (The Dome) in the blast zone which served as my North Star all day long on that walk to the north of Lawetla’la which I referenced in my previous writing. It seemed forever out of reach but doggone it I finally rounded the danged thing up high and thereafter would leave it behind for so many hours that when it was time to turn around, the thimble on the horizon caused me quite a shudder as I realized to the bottom of my sore feet the terrible excess to which I’d indulged. I never knew I could walk twenty miles in a day but never again!
postscript: I wrote this last night.