Audrey Hepburn called it the “mean red’s” in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It’s the blues, crossed with pissiness and anger, sorrow and boredom. The only thing that lifts it is getting outside your head and shutting down the mind . Can’t focus on chores or finances or relationships or anything like what you should do. Just turn that all off. I headed to my path and eventually Walgreen’s (one I hope they don’t close). I stop consciously thinking and just absorb the different surroundings.
I see a deer, between me and the Wilbur Cross. It has a huge tail, like two feet and it stands bolt upright as it hops away, flashing white and beige hindquarters. Fear comes back as I pass under some dead trees and I worry about death by falling branch. I hurry through those parts. I take a phone call. Remember when the phone was on a shelf, in the hall and when you went out if it rang nobody knew? People of the Stone Age even had a little telephone alcove or at the least a phone table. No caller id, no answering machine- nothing. Things happen so fast, and the old technology is just mostly gone. I wonder where would Superman change his clothes today? The Apple IBooth? Nah, he probably has an app for that.
My voice on the phone call startles another animal kingdom denizen, a great blue heron; which flies upstream away from the gossipy talk of fat pets; rabbits, cats and dogs and the CT Idol who will probably win. The caller frequents a bar they all go to and when I found out how bratty he was and how slutty everyone else there is, I was turned off. And the bar’s name is the same as the one on TV’s third most incipient show from the 70’s and 80’s. But the Idol can really sing.
Some nutbag in Manhattan was walking around with a hammer swatting people and the police shot him after he attacked one of them. Too bad people make them do it. But there are a few cops who may feel like I did today, that take things a little too far.
So I googled Police shootings. Then I googled police baby deliveries. There were like 6 pages of shootings and 14 of deliveries. I would like to know the exact numbers, but I suspect that for every police shooting there are like 30 baby deliveries. This encourages me.
But the star of today’s show was not the fauna, but the flora. I always think of Lincoln’s funeral whenever I see lilacs blooming in the dooryard. Their perfume fills my neighborhood. I head home and take a side street. The wisteria is in bloom, cascading from a large bush. There was something that looked like frangipani framing the wisteria bush and across the street white and purple lilac blooming side by side. Mid spring is a wonderful time of year, even though it’s when Lincoln died.