The new dog peed on the dining room rug. Prior to this, said dog would have been referred to as our “Beloved Romeo.” The bloom is off the rose.
I suffered an invisible defeat this week. It was a classic instance of overestimating myself and underestimating others,’ a mistake I have made many times in the past; this one, however, gave way to riotous laughter late at night as my husband riffed on instances of our shared experiences of ‘humiliation and shame.’ Sometimes, one is lucky to be mocked.
Trump’s idiocy has gone from irritating to life-threatening. I am loathe to admit that much of the president’s theatrics have been entertaining, fodder for my endless resistance appetite. This week, though, put us all cozy close with the final frontier. An unlearned, undisciplined, unprincipled person could push the button and, apparently, the people who could stop him can’t bring themselves to do it. It would be stupefying if it wasn’t terrifying.
My husband is smarter than me because, while I’m doing this, he is reading the New York Times. My writing life and schedule is a wreck. I’m running around counting donated socks and getting invisibly defeated during the day instead of following the disciplined writing schedule I’d conjured up months ago. So I end up very late at night writing a post as evidence that my fingers can still find the keys. That said, if I have a couple of good posts a week, I’m pretty happy. And this week I had two that were keepers.
Christmas is coming and it will be a small and precious one. It’s a warm light on a cold night, a kitchen where someone is cooking, the world smallest Christmas tree perched on top of our piano, watching It’s a Wonderful Life and feeling almost certain that an angel, much like Clarence, saved someone I love. All together, it will be a fine end to a surprising year and I’m glad beyond words.