My posts are rarely about me, (unless my point-of-view is somehow misconstrued as being ‘me’), but this week, my life, the very me-ness of the universe that begins in some obscure synaptic wrinkle of my brain, began a happy dance that, for the first time in more than four years, blurred and superseded, (not blotted out and eliminated, unfortunately), the lying, fetid, batshit craziness of Trump world.  And…if you were paying any attention at all, you’d realize that this week’s l-f-b/c was a very high bar, indeed.  But…more about me and the very cool week of me.  As of September 5, my daughter and grandchildren also became my neighbors.  In a bold, brave decision to seek a more fulfilling lifestyle and to lessen our 3,000-mile proximity, thus raising the frequency of in-person Papa hugs to a daily occurrence at a minimum, they left Los Angeles, (that sprawling, sweltering, smoky, soulless parking lot), to begin an adventurous journey at the foot of the Adirondacks.  I’m not sure if years of whining, cajoling, prodding…did I say, whining?…had much influence in their decision, but they’re here, it’s real and I’m but six Covid-quarantining days away from that hug-a-day thing I mentioned.

Of the many lessons learned living with Covid-19, the acute awareness of time wasted has hit me the hardest.  Like most of you, I have an endless list of projects, large and small goals, travel destinations, great American novels to write, music and art to make, hear and see, appetizers, entrées and desserts to taste and a jumble of miscellany that I am determined to cross off in ones and twos.  Certainly, all of these take time, but the time that I feel I have most squandered is that not spent with the people I love, made so much more evident by the notion of not knowing when I may ever see them again.  I’m among the luckiest, having neither experienced first-hand the tortuous heartbreak of losing family to the pandemic nor being forced to interact through an elder-care widow.  Yet, my circle of caring, the broad interweaving of amazing people that populate the crazy quilt that is my world, has been compromised, infected and torn making me acutely aware of each and every connective fiber that makes me gratefully and humbly…me.