My little nephew’s birthday today so I sent him another Beatle Album: “The Red Album: 63-66.” I imagine him listening to “She Loves You” and “I Want To Hold Your Hand” for the first time ever. I also sent him “The Little Red Lighthouse” which is something a young guy who lives in norther New Jersey, in the proximity of the George Washington Bridge should know about. But I confess, I have a nagging suspicion I may have given it to him before.
I thought I was being slick in ordering a Monopoly game, two packs of cards, a thousand-piece puzzle and some color-by-numbers books, all of which were sent to my mom’s, on the other side of the river. This, I only realized after noticing the “successfully delivered” line on my Amazon account and not seeing anything on my doorstep, nor the mailbox, nor the finding anyone who could confirm or deny over at the neighbor's house whether they had a package or not, only to recheck and see that the default address, my mother's, which I should have changed a while ago, was where I had told Amazon to send things.
BTS on the ride over. Surprised? Saw my mom and stepdad and kept it to at least six feet of space, save for our elbow bumps. An overcast day, I had a flash of some time back in high school listening to “Revolver” on a rainy day like this with my friend, who's still my friend, walking, we were, as I recall, through these same woods behind my house and we were listening to George’s “Love to You,” that day and it brought into clear view just then, what seventeen had felt like. On the way home I threw on “Revolver,” and let its particular magic unwind for my portion of the ride.
At the supermarket where we were supposed to pick up water, we bumped into my dad. He had gloves on and was buying things for the compound he lives in. We bumped elbows as well, exchanged pleasantries, kept our distance. Such is the quality of engagement with loved ones these days. Back in the car my daughter demanded Sgt. Peppers and I gladly obliged.
Tuesday 03/17/20
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