Midweek Meander

"Youth is a blunder; Manhood a struggle, Old Age a regret."

-Benjamin Disraeli

It's 8:08, and I still haven't done anything about the pile of tasks that had me up writing to-do emails to myself at 1:45. No wonder the list never shrinks.

What's gone on since I awakened one minute ahead of the alarm, at 5:29, rolled over and squeezed P's arm to let her know it was time to wake up, and I loved her, just as I do every weekday morning?

I whir into my usual checklist down in the kitchen, first turning on the espresso machine so it warms up in time to make P a cup of Joe before she leaves. Then carefully lay her Manischewitz matzo cracker on top of the toaster, and carefully roll it over every six seconds until it's a little toasted. Run the tap on hot to fill her thermos and warm it up for the coffee. Lay out the pumpkin and sunflower seeds, and the cream cheese spread, next to the cracker with a knife so she can put them together in her usual breakfast ritual.

Then check the front door, and then the back, for Dean and Slane, who come scampering into the dining room from the 44 degree darkness. I grab their bowls and wash them out while Slane stands with his front paws on the kitchen cabinets, crying for his breakfast. I make two bowls of the smelly pate mush, knowing Dean won't touch his, choosing instead to stand in front of the cabinet where the cat treats are kept. I relent and throw a few out on the floor, then go back to see if the Lucca has completed its heating cycle.

Now in its fourth year with us, the Lucca espresso machine has become a little sclerotic, despite my monthly descalings and use of only distilled water for at least the last two years.

The numbers along its face, presumably showing temperature, need to hit 96 before I can make a cup of coffee. I put a rag under the steam wand to blow the water out of it and make way for steam. With both of the pressure (I think) gauges on the right in the green, I pull a double shot and watch the right needle drift up into the blue as the boiler refills, then sink back into the green before I froth a little half-and-half to top her espresso and hot water. Steaming in the blue is a pointless exercise, and I don't really remember having to wait between pulling a shot and using the wand. Old age diminishes us both, this magic machine and I.

P pads down the creaking stairs just as I'm steaming the milk, and I place the cup of coffee in front of her just as she's finished spreading cream cheese and seeds on her Hebrew cracker. Then I make my own cup, pull up the weather app on my phone to convey the current and high temperatures today, and help her run her checklist--phone, badge, keys--before a quick smooch and out the door. "Be safe," I always say as she climbs the hill to her car.

Now it's 6:02. It's always 6:02, plus or minus a minute or so. The ballet flows like clockwork after years of the same.

With only the cats at the house, I sit in my barrel chair in the piano bar and scan Drudge and then the NYT on my tablet. Once the coffee is gone, I may transition to the couch, which inevitably leads to about twenty more minutes of sleep as I struggle to keep my eyes open while reading Thomas Edsall's latest data-heavy essay on why this election is so unnervingly close. Dean curls up and sleeps in my lap, snoring a little.

It is now 7:12. I awaken and shuffle into the kitchen (when did I start getting around like an old man?) for muesli and Ovaltine, and another NYT editorial. Then a few minutes with each of my two books these days, A Place of Greater Safety, and Dominion, the latter a hardcover bestseller telling the story of how Christianity shaped who we are as a culture even as it diminishes in its direct influence. Right now we're learning about the religious views of Greek despots. Great stuff.

At 7:35 I go make the bed and start fretting over this blog. What to write about? Yesterday's encouraging golf lesson, during which I finally learned the basics of how to chip and pitch? My nagging concern over these four trials scheduled between now and mid-October? To be precise, I'm in trial 17 September, 1 October, 14 October, and 21 October. I usually try maybe one case a year. Meanwhile I need to drop one of these classes at NYU, given that this crush of trial work coincides with the beginning of a very demanding LLM program. They warn you in the academic guidance not to get over your skis at the beginning; I plan to take that to heart.

Meanwhile, I also need to write a blurb for the PC Symphony encouraging planned giving. I meant to get that done a couple days ago, but am hopelessly behind. Too many morning naps, I guess. Over the years I've served on lots of boards populated with folks the age I am now. Most of them were retired or at least slowing down, however.

With that, it's time to lean into my Wednesday. I have three phone conferences, an executive session Zoom meeting with a condo board, and two depositions. When all of that finally draws to a close, I'm hoping we can drive up to the condo for the evening, one last time before we head south this weekend for my marathon at work. I'm wishing we had time to take out the wooden boat, but it's not to be. That purchase has been a complete bust--we've driven it around the lake exactly twice, each time less than an hour due to engine issues. I'm not sure what we were thinking when we bought it, except she sure was pretty.

Isn't she though?