The wind woke me up as its intensity increased with the warming of the afternoon. The instant the dogs realized my eyes were open, they wanted to go outside. I looked outside to see if it was raining. Three police cars sat three doors up to our North. I closed the gate and we went outside. The cops stood in front of the house talking to a man in handcuffs. This is one of many houses in the neighborhood with two cars in the driveway and three more on the grass, low-income families trying their best to fit multiple generations into a three-bedroom home, struggling to get by.
After standing next to the tree, too far away to hear much, we came to the assumption that this was most likely a domestic violence situation. A young woman came out of the house crying. An older woman came outside and tried to console her; the effort didn’t appear to be successful. One of the officers came over and gently walked the young woman away from the man in handcuffs. There was no ambulance but that doesn’t mean harm wasn’t done. Of course, I could be wrong, but we know that domestic violence is all too frequent a crime in desperate situations like these. There’s never a positive spin to three policemen outside your home.
I called the dogs and we walked back inside to the overwhelming fragrance of ham and beans simmering away in the slow cooker. I immediately felt nauseous. I may not be able to eat but at least the kids will have something I know they like. The police are gone now, which, in a way is rather sad. The cars going through the neighborhood have never been more conscious of their driving. Everyone stopped at the stop sign. Maybe the city should just park a car there for a few days.
Meanwhile, I’m lying back down where I belong.
Morning Update: 03/27/24
One sure sign that I’m dreaming is how healthy I appear. Have you ever noticed that? In my dreams, I’m more likely to be in my 40s, healthy, and strong. I can still do things like climb trees to get a shot, rescue the damsel in distress, and eat a fantastic meal without feeling ill afterward. Such dreams are a long way from this morning’s reality: old, cancerous, and in pain. I’m not as witty as I once was. I’m not full of quotable sayings. I don’t like how I look. Posture is an afterthought.
Have you ever noticed that television and media don’t know how to represent people like me? It’s easy to represent a gay couple as long as they both look good. It’s easy to represent someone handicapped as long as they can pull off witty banter. Including multiracial characters isn’t a problem anymore, either. But when was the last time you saw a well-defined character who has trouble physically getting out of bed in the morning? Has the crime ever been solved by someone who has to stop in the middle of a car chase to take their medicine? The closest I can think to that kind of inclusion was the old police drama “Ironside,” which started in 1967. Even there, they chose an actor (Raymon Burr) who was otherwise healthy and strong. He was extremely intelligent, and decisive, and showed no sign of muscle atrophy at all.
But then, who wants a main character that’s inherently weak, flawed, and frequently boring?
I was boring yesterday. I’ll likely be boring today. The wind is back out of the North today so I’ll likely spend a fair amount of the day wrapped in a blanket. There are plenty of leftover beans and cornbread so It’s unlikely that I’ll cook. I might take a shower.
The kids were all but invisible again yesterday. G is making friends in the VR community. Tipper is working on her art. Neither leave their room except to get something to eat. Sure, this is typical teenage behavior. To expect much more of them would be ridiculous. I don’t have anything exciting to keep their interest. I mean, what dad can compete with VR?
At least I’m not Utah state Rep. Phil Lyman who responded to yesterday’s collapse of the Francis Scott Key Bridge with the nonsensical statement, “This is what happens when you have Governors who prioritize diversity over the wellbeing and security of citizens.” In a second post, he wrote, “DEI=DIE.” And this numbskull is running for Governor of Utah. Other insane Republicans blamed the bridge collapse on Russia and open borders. How people get to be so fucking stupid is a situation I don’t understand. ‘Tis the season for desperate attempts to appear relevant, I suppose.
Maybe I’ll go back and re-process some older photos today. Or maybe I’ll just dream.
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