![]() We’re supposed to be grateful to live here. Suburban Northern California ups the ante. Is all suburban existence so strange? It’s enough to make one question their sanity. Duncan, 92 and still devoted to rising for a 7am shower and a 7:30 breakfast might be peeking through the windows too, checking to see if his lawn is still there. I peek through the curtains to see if one of the newer white neighbors is walking a dog. I can’t remember the last time I saw a school bus. ![]() There’s no sneeze of an A/C Delco starter in a Pontiac Bonneville. Besides lawn mowers, the garbage truck is the only vehicle one hears during early mornings. The trashman actually removed the trash today. After three months, the ankle injury finally is clearing up. My bare feet no longer drag across the plastic runners that have “protected” gray-used-to-be-white shag carpet since 1975. I flick the thermostat’s ribbon speedometer. I put on a nylon robe purchased from Montgomery Ward that was never worn while the store was open. One plays shepherd to a body, and soul, in decline. They remind us that the veil between curated stillness and life’s violent under currents is thin. Jalousie windows never seal the barrier between outdoors and indoors well. I look up, taking in the exposed beam ceiling while feeling the cold sting of morning. My body is overheated from blankets and sheets made of orlon and rayon. My eyes focus on the baroque dresser wearing a bikini made of doilies. It came from an uncle who passed away fifteen years ago. I rest in a bed with an ocean’s wave of paisley carved into its wooden headboard. The dearth of morning light allows me to play vampire a little longer than usual. They applaud how efficient ICUs run with fewer nurses. Decked in Banana Republic and Ann Taylor Loft, they glide across the floor. It’s hard for me to tell whether they’re ghouls or grim reapers. I’ve watched hospital administrators circle the seventh floor right before lunch. Rushed life saving surgeries are performed faster than the questionable “beef” in Big Macs is reheated these days. Will today be filled with more horrors? There was that day I found my father lying on the linoleum kitchen floor, nearly unconscious from sepsis. We won’t comment that I love glazing Ahi Tuna in orange marmalade. A conflict could result if I show reluctance to dress a tuna sandwich in the sugar snot of the former. I ponder questions like, Do I really need this can of Ajax? What’s that recipe…the one for making household cleaner out of vinegar? Our fridge still holds Miracle Whip and Best Foods Mayonnaise. ![]() Will it be a comedy of errors? Will my haphazard running of errands sans a physical list be stifled? The current reality of supply chain disaster is always followed by customer care limbo. During the last few months, each morning I wonder what will be in store. I never imagined that middle age would be day after day of waking to the beam ceiling I’ve known since childhood.
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