Lost and Found

Tomorrow I turn 41. And tonight, I'm drinking wine, shopping for patio furniture, and listening to John Prine. He passed yesterday. The pandemic. I didn't really know much about him before, but I should have. He's my type of music. There's a pressure to do something with this time. To write poetry, or that memoir I've been talking about for a year. This year, to be exact. How To Be 40. But 40 came and went, and what I'm writing is tipsy tweets, restaurant stuff, and lots and lots of emails for work. Here's something about being 40. I paid the cleaning people today to do my windows. I would have never thought about it, except Jef suggested it. And I would never have even remembered to ask, except I was home when they came for their monthly visit. So I asked, and they said yes (not in Spanish, but in Portuguese), and now I can't stop looking out my windows. They are so clear, so clean. I cannot believe that I was looking through foggy and dirty windows for the past 15 years. And so that's what 40 is. It's not appreciating clean windows and their wonder. It's the fact that they're clean and clear. A year ago, my life was not so clear. I was not okay, and maybe I kind of knew it, but I wasn't prepared to do anything about it. Just yet. But then I did. And this year I cleaned my windows. And maybe it's not going to be an incredible birthday, but it's okay, because I'm appreciative that the fog is lifted a little. I cannot believe that I was looking through foggy and dirty windows for the past 15 years.

There's a global pandemic now. You've likely heard of it. COVID-19. And so I work from home and kind of worry about my job, and do chores that I've waited 14 years to do, like clear out my medicine cabinet. And I drink tea and eat oranges and think of Leonard Cohen. The birds still sing and thunderstorms still happen. The atmosphere, the creatures, they don't know about the pandemic. They don't know about Twitter and the New York Times and crisis communications. They know it's spring and it's time to soften the soil and fill the air with song.