Make Them Do Something

The last day of 2018.  I shouldn’t overdue it but these last two years have truly been soiled with Trumpism, haven’t they?  I was glad to bid 2017 farewell, as I recall, and don’t have much fondness for this past year either.  I’m glad my brood and I, my friends, my colleagues are all healthy and safe.  This is no small thing.  Commencing 2019 I don’t think I’m alone in thinking, more than I should, that I fervently hope that this is the year during which Donald Trump has his comeuppance. 

It’s not only the end of the year, it’s the end of the quarter.  Sales.  There is, fortunately I suppose, one last deal that remains to be done.  All’s been clear for a while, but of course it isn’t done until the order has been sent.  One last minute issue.  Then another.  All navigable.  Then a glitch, which isn’t so easy to navigate at all.  Someone has to find someone and make them do something, tonight!  Tomorrow is no good! 

By the time I head to dinner we finally have it sorted.  The kids are all going with their older brother and his wife to a hotel in the city.  In keeping with the stay-cation vibe I voted to stay home, in our neighborhood tonight.  My wife's of the same mind.  That suits us both. 

We all sit beneath the huge poster of the Ponte Vecchio, lit at night, in our local go-to Italian place.  Antonio should be having a rest.  He worked Christmas.  He works New Years.  He brings us some Prosecco and when I challenge him on this he smiles and says:  “Chinese New Year.  Volare.” . . . complete with an airplane gesture.  

The kids are off.  The Mrs. and I are alone.  My phone begins to chirp with New Years’ messages on Wechat.  People are sending photos from Tokyo and Hong Kong.  The people who were getting very frustrated minutes ago about that deal that hadn’t closed are sending happy faces and thumbs up emotocons now that the deal is booked.  We build a fire and enjoy some solitude. 

Monday, 12/31/18