Trait of the Barbeled Scrounger

Got my room back. The right thing to do, certainly, I (albeit somewhat reluctantly in the day before) surrendered the study to our guest who stayed with us in quarantine since mid-March.  This study has a three window, open view down on to the back yard which I’d traditionally took to seeding and enjoying the view out on as the animals came out to forage.  And this morning I threw the seeds directly below the window for the first time in six weeks.

Our guest thought to take an Uber down to Newark which is a fine idea if they’ll come here to our place to pick you up.  They wouldn’t.  She called one and then another Uber and then Lyft driver who picked up and later cancelled.  “I was catfished again!”  I needed to ask precisely what trait of the barbeled scrounger folks were Aesoping into a human failing these days in slang-production central.  I told her to set the pick-up location in downtown New Paltz.  More catfishing.  Right.  “I’ll drive you over to Poughkeepsie.  They’ll be more drivers over there.

Her order was manipulated in more than one catfishing driver’s mouth before being spat out as inedible.  Gotta be careful bottom feeding.  She’d chosen a place on Main St. and we pulled up beneath the Cast Iron Building with its prominent marking: 1872 on its highest floor.  That’s a date to consider, and I pointed out to our guest that it was just the point we’d reached in our class.  This was registered.  Thoughtfully, even.  But by now, her ride was approaching.  An older gent, be-masked, appropriately.  He seemed friendly.  I photographed his license plate.  And gave her a hug goodbye.  It's ok, we'd been in quarantine together. 

I drove along Main St. and turned right on South Cherry, the street where my mother was born and raised.  I pointed out the house I thought I remembered as hers, to my wife.  And then I pointed it out again.  South Cherry takes you out till you reach Hooker Avenue.  The next right is Ferris Lane.  How many times did I make trace this pathway as a three year old, a nine year old, a sixteen year old?  

At my mom and step dads, we pay and appropriately distant visit.  Even a distant visit, with the faint whiff of dread in the air, is grand and overdue.  But we don’t stay long. 

Thursday, 4/23/20