Deliveries with Six Other People

Haven’t had a chance to read Anna K., with my little one for a while now.  Making dinner she flipped open her lap top and asked if she could play some tunes.  The new RM song which has an unwieldy long title was fine to set it off.  She asked and I suggested the tune “Boomerang” by some individuals that came together for that song and promptly disbanded (Wanna One).   My little one appears to have a crush on Hwasa the sultry brunette from the band Mamamoo and we hear one and then another of her pouty ditties while I, and I alone, chop the garlic. 

But this K-Pop indulgence allows me the good will to suggest we ought to read a dose of Tolstoy before it’s late and everyone is tired.  We pick up where we left off a few weeks back and Levin and Kitty are at Levin’s brother’s Nicholas’ death bed.  And, as happens with uncharacteristic frequency i the hands of Leo's mastery, we are suddenly there, uncomfortable and all-too-human, working through a prolonged death from multiple angles.  The protagonist nearly passes, and then recovers, and then descends again, his emotions trailing, uncontrollably.  Levin feels sorrow, and regret and boredom as well and doesn’t know how to properly be, in this situation.  His wife, just is, and she knows, instinctively how to afford comfort and be genuine to her husband’s brother.   And as so often happens I’m left wondering how he could so convincingly inhabit each person’s soul, so that we can believe the boredom and the terror and the faith in such effortless equal measure?

The chicken is in the oven, baking away.  So is the cauliflower casserole with mustard and onion bits.  The potatoes have been in the longest and believe they’re early done by now.  May as well reheat that bowl of fedelini that I made last night.  We don’t need the extra starch, but it will all go to waste otherwise, and the older one appreciates more veggie options.

I try to return to work after dinner, but it is hopeless.  I’m a morning man.  I try to write an email and nod off with my finger on the space-bar.  I walk out to the kitchen and back and pick up where I was.  But soon I’m dreaming of making deliveries with six other people in an open-back pickup. We’re all wearing helmets and the people we are making deliveries to are a strapping on gas masks to receive us.  It’s a strange world I’m happy to awaken from again.  But clearly, it’s time to head up stairs and go to bed. 

Wednesday, 04/10/19