So Much The Ancient

Happy Birthday to me! 

I wake up a little late.

I make a pot of coffee. Pour a cup full, over a dash of real cow milk. I cannot tolerate the flavor, nor the texture of nut juice in coffee. Oat juice is likewise not acceptable. I won't even entertain tofu juice in coffee. All of those are fine in other places. The coffee bean deserves the real milk, sourced from local, happy cows. I have seen them and their habitat. It's OK. They're as well off as any of us are in this twisty-turny simulation of reality. 

I mix up some flour, homemade baking powder, salt, stirring very well to incorporate all the dry ingredients. I grate in some frigid butter, getting the consistency just right, sort of softly-chunky. I lightly stir in the local whole milk, add cheese... your basic cheesy biscuit recipe, roll em' out, press/cut with Dad's old whiskey glass into the semi round shape, the shape Neal and I like from a biscuit, then throw them into the oven. 

Coffee cup in hand, I walk down to the bottom of the driveway to inspect the brand new, beautiful, large, amazingly yellow mailbox, the one I installed yesterday. It's solidly installed, but wiggles, just a bit when opened and closed. This is due to the thin metal of the post. It's in the design. And probably partially due to the very sturdy latch on the mailbox. The box makes a good solid "Klonk" when opened or closed. On a side note, in what is probably an unintentional bonus, it should act as a notification klonk whenever someone opens and closes it, to be heard from anywhere at the house. "Klonk!" Mail's here!

I think briefly about the marriage of the solid klonk to the less solid post. Is it a mismatch? Will it last? Or will the solid klonking mailbox be too much for the worryingly flexible post? Of course, the post might not be weak, just flexible. It might flex forever. I worry this could cause the box to, I don't know... wibble. Or it could wobble. The nuts could come loose from too much motion. We wouldn't want a problem with the nuts, after all. I mean, the box could be its klonking, solid self. The post could be its flexing, adaptable self. All the while, the bolts are working loose, not happy with the situation in their own way, because the nuts are loose. There's a lot to consider.  

 

Rather than be frustrated by this, I begin to think of ways I can reinforce the post, without compromising the nice, clean look of it all. I could back the post with a t-bar. But that would add clutter. I could add a half-round pipe up the back, or even wrap it with a split pipe. It would take some doing. But I could make it work. Or maybe I could remove the mailbox from the post, drill a hole in the platform that it mounts to, and insert a rod with some concrete around it. That would work, and secure it from the inside. Of course, that is a bit more work, and holds the potential for unforeseeable risks. The reality that there ARE risks is NOT unforeseeable. Heck! It could screw up the mounting. Not likely, but possible. I could set it down and somehow scratch the beautiful yellow finish. That's just it. The unknown is terrifying from a first world problems perspective, terrifying. 

I begin to feel a little guilty that I would deem to change the nature of the post. I'm being judgmental. And I'm obviously playing favorites. After all, it was designed that way. I'm sure people all over the world have installed that same post and surely someone would have let me know if its flexibility had become problematic. Besides, the post is obviously concerned about the cars that might come crashing into it. I mean, it would need to give way in that event. And if I were to have my way and install some heavy duty post, then a squirrel were to come darting out in front of some driver with an unfortunate combination of a caring nature, but a heavy gas foot, then I would be responsible for a disaster.

Besides, we've decided that the asshole who drives the shitty-loud pickup truck in the middle of the road, driving too close to us while we're walking, coming too close and revving his shitty-loud glass-pack muffler, driving too close to us and causing Meg to display for him the middle finger, the rude finger, the birdie finger, in turn causing him the rev even louder as he continues on his asshole way... We've decided he is probably going to knock down the new mailbox because he's a dick, and a dick who knows where we live. So all my thoughts on posts and boxes are likely moot anyway. 

Nah! 

I'm sure it's all fine. Like my Dad used to tell me, "Lee, you just think too much!" 

Well, coffee cup is almost empty. Cheesy biscuits were delicious. I'm done feeling ancient about being ancient. Also, if you're more ancient than I, congratulations. It isn't that I'm NOT ancient. It's just that you are REALLY ancient. 

Have a great day!  

     

Neural Reverb

I have tried for a long time to explain a certain feeling. It's a feeling I get when there is any sort of weakness setting in, a cold, a fever, some short circuit of the body. The best way I can describe it is neural reverb, or neural echoing. 

There's a copper on tin quality to it, like when metals rub together. In the microscopic world of energies, metals create electricity in opposition. You have to use the same, or at least complementary metals when you join them. Otherwise they will deteriorate due to the charges.

There is a mis-joining that occurs sometimes in me. Systemically, the charges go slightly awry, and the resulting sensations are neural reverberation. Each movement or step, or noise, or any sensation on the skin, creates a copper on tin charge, a slight zap and microscopic clank that shimmers. If I'm quiet of movement, I can pick it up. It's the mist thick enough that it makes drops on skin, just before a rain. It's coming. 

I got my first dose of Pfizer vaccine the other day, Friday. I felt absolutely nothing when she injected me. Well, not true. I felt the cold swab of the alcohol wipe before the injection. Then she said she was finished. I waited in the car, in the parking lot with Neal, who got his shot at the same time. I waited for 15 minutes, imagining each moment the onset of anaphylactic shock. And in the car line for coffee afterwards, I listened, to the passing seconds, to be the rare case. But we got our coffee fine. Just coffee. No epinephrine needed.

My arm was sore that night. That's about it. And just the area right around where I believed she pretended to give me a shot because I didn't even feel it. Now I felt it. But just...

We went to Boston the next morning. We roamed the streets, masked up. We bought delicious meals, stayed in a great hotel. We did a bit of Boston. It was probably a dumb thing to do. But we did. And we were as cautious as cautious can be once we threw caution to the wind and went. I mean, going wasn't cautious. But we wore masks. We washed our hands. We distanced. In Boston.

______

This was all something I wrote about three weeks ago. I've been engaged with the world to the extent I haven't been writing much. 

Now it's May 12, a day after my second shot, a day before my 54th birthday. I'm going to New York City for a day trip in a few days. The good news is I've had my second serving of nanochips, making me invincible, impervious, except for the downloads from my liberal overlords who will program empathy and respect for people into my genes. 

That's where I'm at.