I Just Bought That

9:08am. 

Great. 

Running late again. 

Hopefully the train won’t be too crowded. 

It’s raining? 

Awesome.

Do I have my umbrella? 

Nope. 

Shit.

Forgot to get cash from the bodega last night. 

The bodega on the corner by the subway has an ATM and sells umbrellas. 

Do I really want to pay rainy day bodega umbrella prices? 

Do I have a choice?

The answer to both is no.

Seriously?

You’re going to cut in front of me to steal a seat when you see I have a cane? 

Asshole. 

The joys of commuting on the New York City subway. 

Not nearly as glamorous as it looks on Seinfeld or one of those other shows set in New York.

The seat thief leaves their earbuds in and doesn’t look up even though I am standing right in front of them. 

I feel a fart brewing. 

Side effect of early morning coffee. 

I manage to turn around and aim my butt at the offending seat occupier and let it rip. 

Oh yeah, I had Thai food last night. 

The seat thief inhales deep and yells profanities and invokes variations of deity names.  

Twenty-five minutes and a sore knee later I’m at my stop. 

I navigate the crowd up the stairs to street level and try to stay under as many awnings as possible. 

For the first time since the last time it rained there is a line in the bodega. 

Bodega cat winds between everyone’s legs leaving dander and cat hair in his wake.

I grab an umbrella, a Hal’s seltzer, and a pack of smokes. 

$43.50 later I’m on my way.

Since I’m already late and paid luxury prices for a $4 umbrella I need a coffee. 

My cart guy ran out of Anthora cups a few days ago and hasn’t gotten more yet. 

I blame that on my no good, very bad, rainy, wet day. 

There’s something about those blue and white Greek style coffee cups that I find comforting. 

No rhyme or reason to it.

I just do.

Balancing a dangerously hot cup of coffee, my new umbrella, and trying to light a cigarette is as much of a workout as I will get for the foreseeable future.

Lean into it.

Take a sip, take a drag, wait.

Four steps across the street and a massive wind gust hits.

I hear a snap. 

I feel rain on my head. 

My rainy-day-price-bodega-umbrella is now in two pieces. 

The handle, which I am holding, and the top part that is supposed to keep me dry is skipping through traffic. 

I just bought that. 

Now it’s gone.

Inspiration Everywhere

Two of the ideas I’m currently working on right now are inspired by weird happenings that a couple of friends posted about on Facebook. Both seemed perfect for the idea for a story and I began working on them. So far both have several iterations of outlines, some dialog snippets that came to mind, and a decent synopsis. 

I recently heard an interview on The Writer Files with one of my favorite authors, S.A. Cosby, where he talked about how he would start by writing a stream of consciousness synopsis that he used to tell himself the story. It’s not meant to be a first draft just getting the story out of his head. Then came organizing, filling in details and plot holes, and the first of many drafts. I tried this method for both of these projects and it worked pretty well. 

I’m not done with either synopsis but I feel less stuck than if I was trying to write a perfect first draft. If there’s something I need to look up I make a note to refer back to and keep going. It’s the difference between taking class notes on a computer versus handwritten notes. In a Word document you are much more limited with how you can go back and make notes or add something later to an earlier part of the story. 

Another recent treat is that my absolute favorite author, Chuck Palahniuk, started a writing workshop newsletter on Substack and it’s been awesome. Lots of advice and anecdotes of his own experience and while they’ve all been good some have hit closer to where I feel I’m at as a writer. One his posts earlier this week validated something I had been doing for years. He suggests carrying a notebook everywhere and writing it down if you see or hear something that would be a great addition to a story. 

I always had a Field Notes notebook and bullet pencil handy when I took the bus or subway to commute in New York. I found the bus to be more entertaining and produced more material but the subway definitely had it’s moments and if I follow through with even half of the ideas I have a title and main points for (along with some choice overheard dialog) you’ll be reading about it sooner than later. 

My Backpack Saved My Life

18 months later I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve started to write this story. It’s the story of how in March of 2020 my backpack saved my life and prevented me from getting Covid on the New York subway. 

The week we were in Detroit we heard the news about this new virus that was mostly in Seattle and the West Coast and honestly didn’t think much about it. As the week progressed, the outbreak in Italy took over the news and got our attention. If it was in Europe, it was probably in New York. By the end of the week mini outbreaks were reported in New York but nothing too severe yet. 

After a week in the Detroit area (serious unintentional  foreshadowing) taking care of some business that Jess had to deal with about her dad’s estate and the house she inherited we got back to New York later than originally planned and were exhausted. Sunday was a catch up day doing errands, grocery shopping, and laundry. Before I knew it, it was 1am and I had to be up at 6:30 to get ready and leave so I could get to work by 8 so I could leave at 4 because the nanny had to leave 5 for class by 5. Lots of moving parts. 

Because Sunday had been so busy, I never took the time to repacked my backpack for work so when I woke up Monday morning and started getting ready I noticed it was still packed for travel. Being not fully awake and news of Covid starting to make a bigger footprint in New York, I called an audible and emailed my boss to ask if I could work from home that day. 

I was genuinely concerned about my health since I’m immunocompromised and I knew it would take about an hour to unpack and repack my backpack before I could leave. My boss replied about 20 minutes later and said sure, no problem. The news on how Covid was spreading in New York developed hourly. Later in the day on Monday I emailed my boss again and asked if I could work from home the rest of the week because I was increasingly concerned about my safety. Again, she replied quickly and said sure and she wasn’t sure what the plan for the rest of the office would be. Two days later, I got the email that said everyone could work from home for the foreseeable future.

It didn’t get better and it’s still not. 

Considering how much about Covid and transmission was unknown in early March 2020 I don’t think it’s too far or hyperbolic to say that the fact I was delayed in getting  out the door and ultimately didn’t go into the office because my backpack wasn’t packed for the workweek saved  my life. Every day the rest of that week and for the next few weeks we were in New York before moving to Michigan the news got worse and the case numbers went up. We lived 3 blocks from Elmhurst Hospital and there were sirens every 20 minutes 24 hours a day for weeks. With a (at the time) 10 month old who loved going to the park and story time at the library it was tough to suddenly never go outside until the day we got in a rental minivan and drove 637 miles west to Ferndale, Michigan. 

I don’t know 100% for sure that I definitely would have gotten sick if I had gone into the office that day but with the benefit of hindsight and history, I think it’s more likely than not that I would have and I don’t want to follow that thought down any rabbit holes. 

I’m here, I’m happy, I’m vaccinated, and I will continue to wash my hands, wear a mask, and steer clear of the creepers. 

Generational Differences

A few weeks ago my mother- in-law came to visit and her brought Joni a baby doll. Joni fell in love with her new doll immediately and named her after a character in a story she wants to hear over and over. 

A few days later in a sweet, quiet moment Joni tucked in her doll and was cooing sweetly to it in a soft loving voice. I posted a short video clip of it to social media and a dear, dear friend of mine mentioned that she thought it was wonderful and obvious that my daughter was modeling the treatment and behavior that she experienced. 

That struck me and made me think back to an experience in my childhood that I remember. I had finger puppets of Richard Scarry characters and was playing with them with one of my aunts and I vividly remember one incident. 

I was probably 3 or 4. We were playing with the finger puppets. I remember I had Lowly Worm and I don’t remember what the other one was. I don’t remember any of the other make-believe dialogue but I do remember that at one point I said, “I hate you! I’m mad at you!” and proceeded to use Lowly Worm to head butt the other finger puppet. 

I don’t remember exactly what my aunt said beyond some generic “oh no, don’t do that!”.

There was a lot of yelling and fighting in my house growing up. I do remember that. Lots of cussing and personal attacks and awful things said from parent to child and child to parent and while I don’t remember hitting and I’m not sure it never happened. 

I do remember my grandpa punching me full force in the face when I was about 4, but that’s another story. 

Religion, antiquated ideas on family structure, and shame is how I grew up. Looking back at that and who and what I am today it’s shocking - even to me - that I am a mostly normal functional member of society. 

There would be screaming and cursing Saturday night and then church on Sunday morning where, to the outside observer, it was the picture perfect christian family. It wasn’t always the worst but it wasn’t always the best either. 

Rules for the sake of rules and extreme sheltering from the big bad outside world was how they thought. You can’t fail if you don’t try so stick with the lowest possible idea and aim for that. No one in my family had gone to college so there was absolutely no guidance when it came time to think about college. 

My mother had pulled me out of the best school in Chicago to stick me in some bullshit private school and we had recently started attending an evangelical church. I had made some friends at the school but was still mostly ever allowed to socialize during school hours. I had started going to the youth group at the church so besides the wonky religious stuff from school I was now socializing with a peer group at the church that was largely sexually repressed teens, some of whom knew how to bend the rules more than others. I don’t want to get too far off topic here because each of the specific memories I have from that time could be it’s own Netflix series. 

Because I didn’t know any better, I chose the Bible college. I thought I knew what I was doing but in reality I had no idea at all what I was about to get myself into. 30 years later it’s easy to armchair quarterback what I could have or would have done differently but I didn’t. Along they way I made the best of sometimes shitty situations and I ended up in a pretty great place with an amazing partner and the Best Kid Ever. She even has a t-shirt that says so. 

I know what parts of my childhood and upbringing were not normal and I refuse to repeat and that’s what I want for Joni. To feel unconditional love and support in everything she is and does and wants to try and wants to be.

In my own situation, I only felt, and in realty only was, supported when it was something that my mother agreed with and more importantly, something that the rest of the family agreed with to the extent that there would be no, or at least minimal, conflict. 

As I was starting to think back on my own childhood and what some of my memories are I was aware that Joni is at that age or very close to it so I am especially aware of what I do and say around her and what I say to her and affirm all the time that she is perfect and loved so very much.