Up from four. I don’t mind.
Indeed, I’m quietly relieved and proud to see that my team in Beijing
and Shanghai and Guangzhou are all back to work. We had a client call to update progress. After all China’s been through, we might have
thrown our hands up and said: “What progress?”
Fortunately, my team aren’t the only ones that have been bored stupid,
sitting around their apartments with their parents and their children waiting
out the virus. Everyone, it seems, is
ready to return to China’s default state, of industriousness.
My daughter is off
on a school trip today. She is heading
to Quebec with her French class. Well,
in fact, she will sleep at school tonight and they will all take off to the
Great White North tomorrow morning at 4:00AM.
So, encumbered with a suitcase, (I know a thing or two about lugging
suitcases,) I gallantly offered to drive her the whole way over the river this
morning. She got to play BTS till the
toll booth, as always, and then I decided I wanted to hear “Abraxas” for our
progression on the east side of the Hudson.
“Wait, just listen to this part!”
It probably sounded as “oldster” as Glenn Miller to her ears.
Got a visit in
with my stepdad, on the ride back up Route Nine. He’d be happy to see my photos of Tel Aviv,
but I knew he’d be particularly interested to see the snaps I took yesterday of
the orange fox, who had returned to our yard yesterday. “Yup.
That’s him. He sat down right in
that nook in our lawn, just thirty yards from my window. When I picked up the binoculars, he seemed to
suddenly notice me and with that, he darted off into the forest. My stepdad, the remarkable naturalist,
confirmed that unlike coyotes, which keep up a constant movement, foxes will
find a place to hunt and remain there. He has apparently decided our yard is a
good stalking ground. In a fashion not
unlike the way one ponders Godzilla vs. King Kong, I asked him about just how
the two predators, the fisher and the fox, both of whom are the same size and
both of whom seem to like to bounce around our yard, contend with one
another. Neither are big enough to
finish the other off. He reckoned they
probably just stayed clear of each other as they prowled about.
Later my father
and my stepmother swung by our place. I
told them all about my trip. Sitting on
the couch together we rifled through my photos, all of which were interesting
but none of which seemed to properly capture what I’d remembered. I recommended a few of the novels I’d read to
my stepmom. She likes a good novel, but
she’s picky and candid and hadn’t thought much of the last batch I’d
shared. I tried to curate the pile she
was sifting through and offer recommendations laden with caveats.
I can’t see them,
but as I settle down to emails, as the sun is setting, I can hear the uncanny
call of two large owls out there somewhere.
I’d explained to my stepdad that when we’d listened to the off the great
horned owl on Youtube, it hadn’t matched the call of our owl. “Try the barn owl.” He counseled. He’s not quite as big, but they’re also very
common.” I checked. The barn owl is too screechy. I’m sticking with the great horned owl, who
has more of a childlike “who who.” He’s
close enough.
Wednesday
02/12/20
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