The one about Tom Cruise and a pug

We watched Oblivion last night. Beautiful scenery, and really nice writing that tied together things together near the end. (Spoiler alert.) In one scene, the main character has come to realize that he's a clone, and tries to grapple with how he can feel so intensely.

He says to his beloved, "I'm not him. I know I'm not. But I've loved you for as long as I can remember. I don't know how else to say it." (There's a nice double entendre there, as his memory has been wiped a few years ago. Also, Tom Cruise has sold an ILY delivery to any number of pretty women over the years. But I digress.)

The beloved knows she's talking to a clone of her husband. She tells an anecdote as a preface to her conclusion, which is, "Those memories are yours, Jack. They're ours. They are you." It's a gracious and perfect benediction. It's true in an important way, and it reflects a kindness in overlooking some untruths. 

(It also uncomplicates a very complicated situation, and allows the story to move on to its inevitable, semi-happily ever after ending. The actress sells the delivery. Which is saying something, as she's the Mary Sue character who does everything right and looks great doing it. But I digress.)

I had truffle popcorn, which I haven't had in a long time. We cuddled and talked. It was lovely.

Then today, we heard from a friend that his mom died suddenly. Our day was spent partly on that, and partly on other big feelings.

Tonight, coming back home from our walk, I stepped out of the car and found myself on the receiving end of an intense gaze by a pug. Evidently, she had stopped to stare at our new car while it was idling. (A dog with taste!)

The pug wouldn't leave even though her owner was tugging at the leash with some force. "Hi, darling," I said, greeting the dog as I assembled my things in preparation to leave the car. Her owner apologized. "I'm sorry; sometimes, she does this."

I greeted the dog again, and then closed the door and started to leave. The pug stayed put. Her owner continued pulling on the leash, to no effect. She chided her pet, "You can't just stay here." But the pug didn't budge. 

Sometimes, you have to stop. You have to wait for the feeling to wash over you before you can move on. Sometimes, staying still is part of living fully.

**

Today, I read:

-The tale of Horatius, in the Lays of Ancient Rome, by Thomas Babington Macaulay. A portion had been quoted in the movie, and I wanted to know the whole story. It's great.

Today, I wrote:

-this blog

Yesterday, I deleted:

-A stained red shirt. I liked it a lot. I often felt industrious and put together when I wore it. Farewell, and thank you for your many years of service.

Hit me up: if you want to discuss why Tom Cruise's character didn't notice that other repairmen were working on his drones; if you think Mary Sue characters aren't appreciated enough; if you want to be interviewed about grief; if you have an opinion on the feelings of dogs; if the meter bothered you in certain parts of the Lays of Ancient Rome; if you read this post and have comments. My Gmail address is my blog’s name. 

The one where I continue a good habit

I interact regularly with people about their C-19 concerns. Sometimes, it’s giving advice for a particular situation. Other times, it’s opining about the future, so that they can weigh potential consequences or risks. I also commiserate or congratulate, as appropriate. 

A key part of keeping these conversations helpful and efficient is to remove judgment. I avoid saying how I feel, what I would do, or what I think. I’m not providing my own perspective. I’m offering data and insight, so that the person can be more confident and informed in moving forward. And I do try to provide emotional support; at the end of the day, I know the person is doing their best to make a difficult decision during a scary time.

These conversations give me a chance to appreciate the different ways that people are responding to a pandemic. Unsurprisingly, everyone is experiencing high levels of insecurity, anxiety, and fear. Their personalities, resources, and habits are guiding how they handle a global crisis. Their situations and inclinations determine what part of the problem they bring to my attention.

The C-19 situation is going to continue for many more months. I expect to have multiple conversations a day about people’s feelings and worries. It’s an extension of my pre-pandemic life, helping people with non-C-19 issues. This is just another facet of life now.

While we were driving tonight, talking a little about some memories we've made recently, and enjoying the silence of not-talking, we saw a DeLorean on PCH. Fewer than 9,000 were sold in the few years of its production, and many were fraught with problems.

This one drove like the beautiful emblem it was, a personification of time travel and passion, past and present. It drove off into the future just as we did.

**

Today, I read:

-John Atkinson’s comic, Wrong Hands. I love reading a strip from the beginning. It’s a way to see the  evolution of an artist’s themes and quirks. He loves puns, fonts, idioms, math, literature, sounds, letters, history, and tilting his head to see things from a new perspective. He refers often to science, religion, technology, and social media. Some of my favorite strips are about how adding or subtracting letters will change the meaning of a word. 

-about Andres Guardado’s death last week, similar events that occurred contemporaneously, the protests, and the interviews and investigations related thereto.

-the inspiration for Toto’s song, Africa, and Max Siedentopf’s sound installation homage in the Namib Desert (playing the song on loop, powered by solar batteries, in a 55-million year old coastal desert in southern Africa).

Today, I wrote:

-this blog

Today, I deleted:

-another hopelessly stained blue shirt. It wasn’t my favorite, but it was a sturdy standby. And now it’s gone. Farewell, and thank you for your years of dutiful service.

**

Hit me up: if you are or know John Atkinson; if you want to be interviewed regarding Andres Guardado's death and its aftermath; if you've been to the Namib Desert; if you have a recommendation for a favorite sound installation; if you read this post and have comments. My Gmail address is my blog's name.

The one where I start my blog

C-19 is still a thing, at least in my household.

We’re carrying a safety kit (gloves, wipes, and sanitizer) to and from the car. We wear masks wherever we’re likely to encounter people: stairways, corridors, and public walkways.

Groceries are mostly delivered, augmented by a Costco run every few weeks. Takeout food is limited to things we can reheat at home.

Packages are either wiped down or left untouched to decontaminate. We wipe down high touch areas and objects, and wash our hands all the time.

I’ve been teleworking since March, and expect I’ll continue doing so until the new year. Socializing is virtual, telephonic, or by text.

Errands are assessed for their essentiality, weighed against the exposure to indoor spaces and other people; it’s a joint decision, since one person’s exposure affects the other.

We have separate news sources and update one another on C-19-specific developments we observe.

Amidst this oddness, life is full of little pleasures. We make breakfast every day — I’m in charge of the scrambled eggs, and he’s master of the second dish (e.g., pancakes, oatmeal, croissants).

After breakfast and kitchen cleanup, he’s my barista; he’s perfected several different drinks. “Pumpkin spice latte on the bar!”

Then we work or play until we decide it’s high time for a drive. We take a beautiful ride in the new car, usually involving Pacific Coast Highway and some spirited curves on the toll roads.

After the drive, we take walks, for the fresh air and the change of scenery. I collect succulent slips and we take photographs, depending on where we are.

The day winds down with dinner — typically a jointly-cooked effort — and dessert. There’s cuddling on the couch and some TV, and eventually we make our way to bed.

**

Today, I read:

-about Pink’s relationship with her husband, Corey Hart. They’ve been together for a decade-plus.

She was open about their respective complicated family backgrounds, their regular marriage counseling, the two separations they had, their difficulty communicating, their dwindling sex life, her varying feelings about him, and her mental health.

As per her hashtags (which is as good a way as any to summarize a marriage), he’s her rock, they hate the same people, they agree to disagree, and they try to fight fair.

It takes an enormous amount of courage to be truthful and respectful, and to present a balanced story. Harder still as a famous person managing a public image. And then there are their two children, and their respective responses, to consider. All in all, impressively done.

-Several short stories by Edith Wharton, from the Gutenberg Australia project — evidently, copyright expired in that country. All the stories were florid in their detail and characterization, with morbid details, and a wry or melancholy twist as the final ending.

This is the pattern I remember and recognize from the canon. It’s very much an acquired taste!

-the handful of posts I missed before Kira stopped updating her blog, kiwords. Her son Tre has moved into his own apartment; Max is finding his way; Raphael and Sophia are both fine. She has graduated from college, is working as a freelance writer, and still deeply loves her husband, Clay. I love happy endings, and hers is an ongoing happily ever after.

Today, I wrote:

-this blog post.

Today, I deleted:

-a badly stained grey shirt. It was one of my favorites. Farewell and thank you for the years of service.

-apps from my phone that I either no longer use or don’t want to learn how to use. This makes room for me to download more apps that I can later delete.

**

Hit me up: if you’d like to provide a summary of how copyright law works when a specific book falls out of copyright in one country but not another; if you work for the Gutenberg Australia project (or anywhere) and want to be interviewed; if you predicted the ending to the Miss Mary Pask or The Temperate Zone story; if you have a recommendation for a favorite Edith Wharton (or anybody else’s) short story; if you read this post and have comments. My Gmail address is my blog’s name.