Scenic breath-taking garbage. Bits and bobs swirl before me as I decide to answer my boss’s perennial morning question: How are  you doing?

There’s a flutter in my stomach. I’m about to  jump  out somewhere, from the trash of niceties and into something unknown. If I can just wait long enough, look down long enough, I’d maybe be presented with the slightest slice of solidity to hop on. But hope can be a whoopee cushion, a humiliating noise that comes from your own mouth–a chuckle, as I answer my boss’s most innocuous daily salutation.

My answer to her question: I am wanting so much.

I get a laugh. Yeah, she says, chuckling. Me too.

She has no idea for me or I for her, for those responses. We are, for the moment, I feel, equals.

You can no longer tell if your thinking your own thoughts or everyone else’s. Anything original feels like bread without butter.

The most saucy thing you think of are insults: And mild ones at that. Wonder Bread, McDonald’s, Doritoes. And these are said to the people in the book club who refuse to roundrobin.

And you’re the only one who is reprimanded for: bringing brownies that end up getting smeared on the nice hardwood floors and for being Doritoes.  But most importantly for not taking your shoes off as you entered.

But the worst is you didn’t put your can of Cocal Cola on a coastah. Everyone else is drinking Chardonnay.

And don’t forget you were the one who suggested the book.

The book is called “I Don’t Give a Rat’s Ass.” Which oddly enough about a rat’s ass who someone actually cares about. You make stupid remarks. You like the prose until someone said the prose was purple. You yell back: Your nose is red!

You are banned from the book club. But not banned from books. There is a difference; at least last time you checked.

The woman who works at Starbucks says “Hello, my love,” to all her customers. I thought it was just me. This particular morning I am wanting everyone, including her.

1. The business man with the bulbous butt who is holding onto the same train rail as me.
2. The construction worker who keep shifting his Husky toolbag from one hand to another. Only after tailing him (he’s walking in the same direction as I am, to work) do I notice he’s wearing a wedding ring. Why does it never occur to me to check  before going through all that fantasizing.
3. I want to shake things up. But there are so many things that do not need to be shaken, just yet: my job, my spouse, my path to work. So what can I shake up?
4. What could I really and truly shake up?

Binda, I went to Beacon!

Remember Beacon, our first hike in New York? I hadn’t expected it to wear me out but it did. My calves are still sore. And I still find myself annoyed by certain things:

1. Point out that there are no trail blazes with that look on their face that says “I did everything I could to find it and I’m my word is bond.” All of this coming from a 20 year old who wears shorts and knows it All.
2. People carrying those large sticks. I understand their importance. But still.
3. Getting to the fire tower only to find the visibibility is zero given the fog up at the top. But this part I actually like. It felt like I was in a cloud. Heaven.
4. You weren’t there. I climbed with my spounse. But I wish you’d been there.

You run into a woman who you think lives at this store. She’s always going through things and seems to be having a good time doing it.  She hums. She’s pudgy.  You like her a lot.

You both end up in petfood aisle. She has a cat. So do you. You talk about how picky eaters your cats are. There’s not stopping them, you both agree, and laugh.

You want to get to know her more. She mentions a daughter named Kaley. She has a real life, this happy woman.

You don’t want to ruin it by entering it. I do that sometimes. I come in and mess things up. Not on purpose. But sometimes.

I did just now, at Birch cafe. I said my name was Chad when the baristat asked. This time he gave me a double take. I’ll admit: I don’t look like a Chad.

But I sure did feel like one, when he called me that. Twice.

Last year it was The Florida Project. This year it will be new movies. Probably the ones I’ve mentioned.
I love the idea of the truth. And movies are as close as it gets for me, sometimes. Sometimes what someone says on the screen makes me want to turn to a friend or a stranger sitting next to me in the movie theatre and say “That! Did you see that? Hear that? That is what I mean.”
Speaking for yourself, is never as momentous and certainly not cinematic. Not really. Okay sometimes. But not really.

Dear Binda,

Your mom called! I’ve never been so scared and happy in my entire life. She corrected me on a couple of things–now I remember why I love her so much.
She said it wasn’t a trench coat but a beige cardigan that ran down below her knees with a sash made of beige leather.
Turns out she was born in England so that makes sense you calling her “Mummy.”
Also she doesn’t love all jewelry, just watches.

I set her right on a couple of things too. She thought I was Italian. I told her I am Mexican. She thought both my parents were alive. They are both dead.

I heard she’ll be visiting for the holidays. I look forward to seeing her.

Love you Binda!

Dear Binda,

Why was it that I only remember your mother wearing a trench coat? Back in college that seemed to be her fashion of choice. Oh, and she loved jewelry and always,when we walked past a jewelry shop, you’d have to say “Come along, mummy,” with a sudden English accent. That always sent me into peals of giggles.

I miss her. I know she’s not dead. But I do miss her.