Day 164

When we were on vacation, driving through southern Ohio, we stopped at a convenience store. I needed to pee. My son and spouse needed snacks for the car. While my son and I were browsing the shelves, a cop walked passed us. Despite the sign on the door that said face coverings were mandatory, the cop was not wearing a mask. I turned to my son and said, “Look, another example of a cop who thinks rules don’t apply to him.” The cop, who was there on personal business (he too needed the restroom) not professional business, stopped, scowled at me, and said, “Cops are exempt.” I laughed, put my arm around my kid, and said, “See, that’s the problem.” Later, I explained to my child that the cop seemed to think that just because he had a badge he didn’t need to be considerate of anyone in the store. He seemed to think it was okay to infect others. I realize, if I were black, I might be dead, or paralyzed, or maybe simply arrested for being cheeky, but seriously, I stand by what I said. If a cop thinks he’s too good to respect his fellow Americans by not wearing a mask, well, how can we expect him to give a shit about Black Lives.

Today was another shitty day. After my mom went to church — she goes every day to tell God that she is pissed off at him — we drove out to Long Island. We had several stops to make: Walmart to buy notebooks for the brain garden year, Costco to buy…lots of crap, and Optimum for mom to scold them for continuously hanging up on her when she called to discuss her cable plan. It was well after three o’clock when we finally pulled into the driveway in Mattituck. My son was great about helping me unload the car. And then, miraculously — okay, maybe not miraculously since I told him I’d pay him — my son came outside to help me pick up all the branches that had fallen from the trees during the storm two weeks ago. But as soon as we walked around to the back, I discovered it wasn’t just smaller branches that had fallen. Two huge branches had snapped off trees both of which missed hitting the shed by inches. Actually, one branch brushed the shed and the smaller branch hanging off it was pressing agains the outside wall of the shed, but no damage had been done. I immediately checked the roof of the house. That too had escaped damage. Daddy may be breaking things here and there in an attempt to tell Mom she needs to move, but he must have been protecting the house during the storm. What could have been awful, was just bad. When did I become an optimist?

I called Mom to come assess the downed branches. I thought she was going to cry when she saw the debris. “We have to get that one off the shed,” she said looking at it as if it had injured her. “Not a problem. Do you have a saw?”  I asked. She shrugged, “I have no idea what your father has. I ran into the house to get the keys for the shed and as I opened the door my mother reprimanded me. “A saw isn’t going to help. You can’t cut the branch. Don’t even try.” I turned to look at her, my hand on the shed door, “Why not?” The branch was maybe eight inches in diameter. “Because you’ll hurt yourself.” I rolled my eyes, located a saw, and proceeded to cut the branch. It was an easy task. If my mother hadn’t been so worked up about me doing it, I’d have let my son take care if.

With that job done, my son and I proceeded to carry branches down to the end of the road where the town picks up debris. After several trips, a neighbor informed me that doing so — outside of a couple of weeks in the spring was illegal and I could get a summons. So I asked him what I should do. He responded, “I filled up my trailer and took it to the dumb. I’m sure you could rent one.” What a wonderful neighbor. Not, “Would you like some help? You could fill up my trailer and I’ll take it to the dumb for you.” But, “You could rent one.” Two months ago, when he found out Dad died, he asked if we needed help with anything. I guess it was just a bullshit offer.

Later, Mom noticed that the side of her house had been used as a garbage dump — mostly likely by other neighbors. Branches of all sizes from the storm had been piled high on our property. We weren’t here, so I guess they figured they could shit on us. Why are people such assholes?

Today, my memory on Facebook was Dad and my son playing the drums together in Animal Kingdom. Dad was smiling. He was having fun with his grandson. I miss him more every day, not less.