Edit the (Tim) Rich!
“Baby…”
Across the street there is a construction company. They are rebuilding a barn. It is early. The nail banging is loud and intense.
“Baby?”
My mom is unloading the dishwasher. She isn’t supposed to be up this early. Pots and cups are banging. She drops a pint glass. Last night she loaded my vanishing Bill of Rights coffee mug into it. Now the writing is peeling off and she asks me if it’s supposed to do that.
Ellie walks through the room and grabs an apple from the table. Willoe follows her. She is making dolphin noises and singing a song about a duck walking up to a lemonade stand looking for grapes and waddling away. Waddle waddle. Ellie is late for school and in a hurry. I used to have to remind her to brush her teeth, but she remembers now. She darts into the bathroom off the dining room. When she closes the door two of the dogs, the two that aren’t mine, start barking. They are both female. Rebecca calls them the barking bitches.
“Baby!”
I hear footsteps. It makes me think of the invading Cossacks on horseback. I can almost hear their hoof beats.
Ellie is back in the room. My mom is asking me for the tenth time when the real estate agent is taking photos of her house. I’m patient. Wednesday, I tell her again. Wednesday. She asks me to set up her new iPhone. I tell her later. I’ve been telling her later for a week. She wants it done now. She wants me to look at her credit card bill. She got confused and paid the wrong amount.
More nail banging. It’s getting louder.
“BABY!”
I look up. Rebecca is standing next to the table. It’s early. I paid a small fortune to have this table built. Our neighbor built it from wood he scavenged from the old Island Falls General Store when they tore it apart. The dogs won’t stop barking. Ellie yells.
Rebecca slams her phone on the table.
I look up.
“Why aren’t you wearing your glasses?”
I sigh deeply. I shut the iPad. I dream of a simpler life. Like two weeks ago at the spiritual retreat in Puerto Rico. They had a temple and started the day with meditation and yoga. I swam in a waterfall. Here it’s 10 degrees. Ellie missed her bus. The dogs keep barking. My mom tells them to shut up. Rebecca rolls her eyes.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Mom says.
“You know why I’m not wearing them,” I say.
“Your denial of middle age is not an excuse,” Rebecca says.
“It’s not denial. I’m not middle aged.”
“You’re 47!”
“Seriously, again. All of you, again. Will you please just leave me alone? I’m seriously trying to work.”
Donald Trump is slashing 10% of the government workforce. A strange Silicon Valley philosopher is influencing the White House and predicting a new dark age. Elon Musk just had a 13th or 14th kid. Bari Weiss just moved back to New York. Trump is trying to take over the Gaza Strip and want’s to make it a new French Riviera. USAID disappeared overnight. People are losing their shit.
“Your newsletter…”
First we provided Israel with all the weapons to fight this damn war. Now we are supposed to pay to rebuild it too? What the hell? My friends are furious that Trump is praising Putin and blaming Ukraine for the war. I blame Biden for it and thirty years of NATO expansion. They are talking about cutting social security and Medicare. There are less than 400 Right Whales left.
“What, I’m working on it!”
“Not this newsletter! The last one! And all the other ones!”
I’m a very patient man.
“What is your problem?”
“Your spelling!”
“What about it?“
“You’re a smart guy. Your pieces are smart. Why don’t you edit them?”
“I do edit them.”
“Wear your damn glasses!”
“I don’t need glasses.”
“You do! You have three spelling mistakes just in this one.”
“It’s a rough draft!”
“You sent it out to thousands of people.”
“Not that many…”
“Thousands!”
“Yeah, but no one reads it.”
“A LOT OF PEOPLE READ IT YOU DUMMY!”
“…”
Her yelling makes the barking bitches bark more. Spruce, the 60 pound Husky, gets scared and jumps into my lap. My coffee is cold and Spruce knocks it off the table. My mom waddles away. Waddle waddle. Willoe starts making horse noises. Spruce has a toy alligator Rebecca got for him on Valentine’s Day. He tore the squeaker out last night and ate the stuffing and vomited all over my office.
I stand up and put my glasses in my pocket.
Rebecca looks at me.
“Your face baby. They go on your face!”
I need to go to the gym. I need to finish this newsletter. We need groceries. Our oil bill was $1000 last month. We are out of milk. I’m painting my childhood bedroom and I’m only half done. Elon Musk was a hero two months ago and now he’s a villain. Who was the duck of justice guy? Tim Cotton? He would make a great podcast guest. Didn’t he retire?
There is more barking. Rebecca is staring at me. Ellie needs a ride. The mailbox needs to be shoveled. No one has time for anything. I could use a beer. I have to remind myself that I quit drinking.
Willoe laughs. My mom screams. Rebecca just loves me. Spruce waddles away.
Waddle waddle.