Sun window day.
Two nights ago, they found that a still born baby boy's body was missing from a Jersey City hospital. They think he went out with the trash so now they have to search through a whole city's garbage for his remains.
Yesterday afternoon, Mr. Peterson from 8K was wheeled out on an ambulance gurney for the second time since Christmas. His perfect white hair was still in place and he waved, smiling as they loaded him in.
So I went to the plumbing supply store and stood in line as twenty guys with dirty work pants and skull caps waited for clamps and piping and nipple parts for their joints. Back to earth.
Then I bought a book. "The Mercy Papers." There is refuge in words. Words swell my heart. I breathe faster, tears well up, I feel guilty because it feels like I'm not DOING anything, but I can't get enough. Words. Beautifully arranged, tenderly sequenced words. They make sense of the world. Where people die randomly and there seems to be no mercy for the everyday Joes. And the war in IsraelÃÂ And every other bit of news is dire and self-fulfilling.
I will try to MAKE good news. There. I will persevere with joy and kindness. I did one of those interviews with a newspaper somewhere where they ask you 50 questions to answer really quickly, off the top of your head .
One of the questions:
"My one piece of advice would be ?"
"Just don't be an asshole. Or in kinder terms. Just BE NICE."
Happy to be back to frazzled deadlines, and lists and routines. The holidays, although I love seeing friends and family and knitting like a fiend, throw me a little off kilter. Bring it!