Wrong Again
Atlanta, GA
March 29, 2021
As anyone who reads this drivel knows, I’m wrong a lot.
I decided not to buy property in Pacific Heights in 1995, or in Whistler, BC a few years later. My wife was smart enough to buy Amazon in 1999, but I was dumb enough to sell it in 2001. I’ve adopted sports teams that disappoint, and political opinions that never had a shot. I see my parents too little, and watch my phone too much. My music, haircut, and wardrobe haven’t changed since 1987.
Fortunately, I’ve gotten most of the big decisions right. I married the right woman, bought a nice house, and (so far at least) raised good sons.
Otherwise, I don’t need much. A bed, a book, a bottle of wine, and I’m fine. I enjoy traveling, but am content staying home. I like live events, but detest large crowds. I don’t usually desire to go anywhere, but resent being told I can’t.
I’ve lambasted the last year’s lockdowns and mandates – not so much for what they’ve done to me, as for what they’ve taken from others. And for what they’ve done…and are doing…to society. I’m wrong about a lot, but I’ve been right about this.
Nick Hudson, co-founder of Pandemics Data and Analytics (PANDA), last week delivered a marvelous address that laid out in clear, concise, and unambiguous terms the folly, farce, and fraud of this fiasco. It’s a must-watch, as long as the powers-that-be permit it to stay up.
Many have been intentionally infused with unnecessary fear. There’s nothing inherently wrong with fear. It’s natural, human, and normal. It can be an indispensable protection mechanism.
But at some point we must ask ourselves if our fear is keeping us alive, or keeping us from living. I expected steadfast resistance from the American public. When that didn’t materialize, I was sure subsequent compliance wouldn’t last as long as it has. I was wrong again.
We only live each year once, and are never the same age twice. Certain life events are contingent on specific windows of time, many of which never re-open. They can’t be indefinitely put on hold or set aside, in expectation or hope that they can be accomplished online or enjoyed “next year”.
But that’s true for all of us, who know not how much time we’ve got. As Jerry puts it, at a certain point, you stop buying green bananas. A few months ago, Rita, David, and I spent a wonderful afternoon in the North Georgia mountains, enjoying an early Thanksgiving by re-uniting with a few of my paternal aunts and their families.
The guest of honor was my aunt Isabel, eighth-born of ten siblings, and fifth among the sisters. I’ve known Isabel as long as I can recall. Tho’ I’d not seen her for years prior to that re-union in the mountains, she was often around when I grew up, and is among the few people I’ve never not known.
When I think of Isabel, many memories come to mind, all laced with her infectious laughter, boundless energy, and an enviable vivacity. Being among my father’s younger siblings, her age made her seem as much an older sister to me as a young aunt.
With a rotating assortment of rowdy relatives and various hangers-on, we’d spend many weekends at my grandmother’s house, playing football in the yard, trading jokes at the table, and exchanging insults in the den. In the stereotypical manner of any large Irish clan, it was usually loud, raucous, and fun. And Isabel was almost always in the mix.
Yesterday, she and her namesake daughter joined us for brunch. They both live in Atlanta, near the Braves stadium, not far from us. We met at the charming Old Vinings Inn.
The younger Isabel is wonderful: extremely engaging, and recently engaged. Her fiancé wasn’t with us, but we look forward to meeting him. We had hoped to get together sooner, in the immediate wake of our day in Blue Ridge.
But her mother takes things day by day, so plans are fluid. Several years ago, Isabel was diagnosed with esophageal cancer, which is now stage four. She is often fatigued, but her personality remains undiminished. As she put it when we arrived, she simply tries to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Her flesh may be weak, but her spirit is willing. And yesterday, it was high. Over Bloody Marys for us and a coffee for Isabel (with a soothing dose of Bailey’s), we had a great meal remembering old times, discussing current ones, and anticipating those to come. And no one’s laugh is as irresistible as Isabel’s, as was repeatedly proven as our glasses emptied.
At one point, we were discussing their twelve year-old dog, which brought to mind another of my errors. Even in the prime of life, we are prone to drift, and to go sideways. If not careful, we can get stuck, like a large barge in the Suez Canal. From time to time we must change things up, and go around the horn. Three years ago, my wife carried me, kicking and screaming, past the cape.
Seven years earlier, our beloved dog died. We loved her, but her passage to that great kennel in the sky at least relieved us of the obligations of animal ownership.
No more vet bills, boarding arrangements, or having to leave parties early to relieve a cooped-up dog. Besides, two young sons gave us enough to deal with. A pet was an added burden we no longer needed.
Our respite lasted six months. At that point, we succumbed to our sons’ desire for a cat…and got two. They are friendly enough as cats go, are relatively low-maintenance, and mind their own business.
As years passed and the kids approached college, I figured they’d move out, the cats would die, and we’d again be relieved of all duty to domesticated animals. But then, three years ago, at a local festival featuring my son’s high school band, a furry fly fell into my pristine ointment.
A local organization was seeking homes for puppies, and my wife quickly locked eyes with one she wanted to adopt. She sent me photos, and asked my perfunctory permission. I said no.
The next day, a black lab was digging into our plants and peeing on our rug. Initially anxious about what we’d done and where we’d find the time, I acclimated slowly (which is usually the way I do it).
Rocky was easily housebroken, which was a great way for him to quickly earn my respect. Rita loves him and David adores him, almost like a younger brother that filled a void when his older one went to college. And, by being home extensively over the last year, our timing adopting a dog ended up being fortuitous.
I rarely admit this around the house, but I warmed rapidly to our cute canine. I began taking him for walks, and he began accompanying me around the house. Since I was grounded a year ago, a steady companion has laid loyally beside my desk, exuding quiet empathy as his tired owner bores readers or zones out on Zoom.
The last year was made immeasurably better by Rocky’s presence. As with many things we initially resist, I now can’t imagine this place without him. As is often the case, my wife was right. I was wrong. But Rocky was one of the best mistakes I ever made.
JD
