What's up this Sunday morning

What's up this Sunday morning, I wondered as I arose, achy, tired and blue; so much work I've done, so much yet to be done. 

Outside the black maple stands tall and the Japanese maple is fiery; the spruce across the street is blue; the raccoon looks to be nesting in our tree. Oh God, I hope this will end better than the squirrels who nested in our garage.

The attic window is closed year-round to keep out inclement weather and wayward animals searching for a respite against the storm.

We all need that respite from the storm. What's up with the Cambodian woman who looks to be 80 but is probably no more than 60, as she wheels her grocery cart down the middle of the street in this affluent, tree-lined suburb, picking through people's trash and yard-sale leftovers. Oh, I read the bakery truck killed her at 5 a.m. one morning in the dark pre-dawn while she was in the middle of the street.

No charges were filed; she has no family. Another social injustice that nobody will do anything about. Coming back from the zoo, my family stopped at a free yard sale. More leftovers, left for free. The pickings yesterday were a George Forman grill, 10 Beethoven LPs, a few vases and some interesting old paperbacks, still good and not that well-worn.

Better than the time we picked up an old French chaulkboard next to the Lion Cut Cat who growled his best Leo imitation one morning in Montreal, as the neighborhood drunk stumbled out of his apartment and Chantal was barking orders at us as to where to park. 

What's up with my company? It will be bought for the second time in three years. Sounds like the banking industry. What's up with the French woman who removed her top at the cash registers; apparently she forgot where the dressing rooms were. She lost an earring, then cried about it. She left her handbag in the next department, then cried when she couldn't find it. eventually, all ended well for her, that night.

What about the couple who flew to Korea for a month to see the Missus' older sister pass away?  I wonder how they are doing.

I wonder how we are all doing, frayed at the edges and at our bank accounts as we listen to a soft string quartet on the CD player, while a baseball game plays on the TV, as someone is still sleeping in the back room. More shopping for some of us. More tasks for me.

What will this all come to? Eventually, we all end in the same place, more or less. The earth, from dust we came and to dust we shall return.

It is the living that concerns us, here. The gloss, the parties, the wealth or lack of it, is what concerns a lot of us. Mostly the lack of it.

The lack of time, that evil demon that steals moments from us as we steal a glance in the mirror forgetting how time has snuck a silver hair or two on our heads, a laugh line, crows feet around our eyes and the gravity that ruins our once traffic-stopping figure.

Oh, we lament about time, but it does not matter. What matters is here, now. The cats know nothing about any of this. 

What matters is how we live: the quality of our collective moments  - I look at the trees outside; someone is mowing their lawn, kids are riding their bicycles from the playground, a retired couple returns from a short tennis match. 

Today is a good day. The sun is high on a blue, nearly cloudless sky. The temperature is perfect for this New England day.

Today is good.  I will vote for another one tomorrow, just like this.