Progress. One day builds on the next. That’s the theory.
I’m not sure it’s a very supportable theory. So many days are complete puzzlers. You wonder afterward -- what the hell was that all about?
Something about my background leads me to not like to dwell on the unfortunate events that mess with our progress. Life throws you a misguided pitch? Okay. Let’s think about what happens next.
Ed and I went to Brewster, New York so that art that belonged to him would not be in storage in Brewster, New York, but in Oregon, Wisconsin. When he returned, it became clear that there were a number of other containers of art that had not been brought forth for his inspection. So there we have it: art, still in Brewster, New York, a 1000 boring highway miles away. Some would say – damn. A wasted trip. My preferred way of thinking: it was a trip with fantastic elements to it and it looks like it'll have to be repeated.
Here’s another welcome home tidbit: my lending officer had called and left this message: totally sorry, you’re a great person (perhaps I read that part in), but we cannot refinance your condo because we cannot make loans in a building that is less than 75% sold. I did not think: oh, what a wasted effort. I thought, instead, this: who needs a lower fixed interest rate! That’s boring. I can ride the excitement of American real estate vicissitudes. I’m the immigrant who has things to learn, right?
It’s spring today. I did what everyone should do in the first days of spring: move all the winter wear to the back of the closet and gaze adoringly at the suddenly prominent sun dresses and short pants. And if it turns out that next week will be cold, I’ll think: eh! It was fun looking at pink and yellow billowy things for a while. Even as I now reach back for the wooly sweater.