DREAD ON A FINE
FALL AFTERNOON
“IT’S UNBELIEVABLE,” Mr. O gushed, as we met in our backyard for one of our afternoon chats.
“You mean ‘unbelievable’ as in how the Republicans are undermining democracy?” I said.
“No, Phoebe,” the opossum replied. “ ‘Unbelievable’ as in Really Nice Weather. You know, the environment, the outdoors, this very backyard. Here it is October - LATE October – and it’s like spring, or maybe late August, early September. The lawns still are emerald green, the temperatures are balmy. The crickets are cricketing, birds chirping. It’s wonderful.”
“I don’t see how you can be sappy about something like the weather,” I growled. “For one thing, it’s simply a function of global warming. It should be cold, First Frost chilly; rainy days growing shorter, darker, winter on its way. Global warming only makes it seem ‘nice,’”
“And you don’t care we’re getting a couple of extra weeks of mild temperatures, when it’s a joy, not a struggle, to be outdoors?” Mr. O shot back.
“This is no time to be wallowing in wonderfulness," I said. "The Republicans aren’t rejoicing in an extra-innings Autumn. They’re busy undermining fair elections, literally killing people – including their own – by discouraging Covid vaccinations and declaring war on face masks.”
“You mean ‘unbelievable’ as in how the Republicans are undermining democracy?” I said.
“No, Phoebe,” the opossum replied. “ ‘Unbelievable’ as in Really Nice Weather. You know, the environment, the outdoors, this very backyard. Here it is October - LATE October – and it’s like spring, or maybe late August, early September. The lawns still are emerald green, the temperatures are balmy. The crickets are cricketing, birds chirping. It’s wonderful.”
“I don’t see how you can be sappy about something like the weather,” I growled. “For one thing, it’s simply a function of global warming. It should be cold, First Frost chilly; rainy days growing shorter, darker, winter on its way. Global warming only makes it seem ‘nice,’”
“And you don’t care we’re getting a couple of extra weeks of mild temperatures, when it’s a joy, not a struggle, to be outdoors?” Mr. O shot back.
“This is no time to be wallowing in wonderfulness," I said. "The Republicans aren’t rejoicing in an extra-innings Autumn. They’re busy undermining fair elections, literally killing people – including their own – by discouraging Covid vaccinations and declaring war on face masks.”
“I’M TRYING TO BE POSITIVE,” said the marsupial with the Teddy-bear face and the rat-like tail, his tone growing every-so-slightly stern. “We have to take pleasure where we can find it, Phoebe, and right now, our backyard is the perfect place to, well, smell the roses.”
“The roses are long gone,” I noted.
“A figure of speech, my too-literal friend,” Mr. O said. “Smelling-the-roses means that we should take time to appreciate the wonders of our lives. And we have great lives here in Rhode Island. People come from thousands of miles to walk through Newport’s Robber Baron mansions, to hike the Cliff Walk (for free), consume carbohydrates on Providence’s Federal Hill, sign on for schooner cruises on Narragansett Bay."
“What about the Republicans?” I said. “And Trump? The murderous governors of Florida and Texas? The ‘citizens’ menacing school board meetings? Steve Bannon sneering at Congressional investigators trying to get to the core of Jan. 6 insurrection? Red State legislatures twisting election laws?
Clearly annoyed by now, Mr O shot back: “What does any of that have to do with being able to enjoy a nice day in New England? Just because we live in a blue state doesn’t mean that we have to always be in a bad – should I say blue – mood.”
“The roses are long gone,” I noted.
“A figure of speech, my too-literal friend,” Mr. O said. “Smelling-the-roses means that we should take time to appreciate the wonders of our lives. And we have great lives here in Rhode Island. People come from thousands of miles to walk through Newport’s Robber Baron mansions, to hike the Cliff Walk (for free), consume carbohydrates on Providence’s Federal Hill, sign on for schooner cruises on Narragansett Bay."
“What about the Republicans?” I said. “And Trump? The murderous governors of Florida and Texas? The ‘citizens’ menacing school board meetings? Steve Bannon sneering at Congressional investigators trying to get to the core of Jan. 6 insurrection? Red State legislatures twisting election laws?
Clearly annoyed by now, Mr O shot back: “What does any of that have to do with being able to enjoy a nice day in New England? Just because we live in a blue state doesn’t mean that we have to always be in a bad – should I say blue – mood.”
“And, as I recall, the Humans took you with them on their recent trip to Block Island, a dog-friendly spec of paradise-preserved 12 miles off the Rhode Island mainline,” Mr. O said. “You seemed to perfectly happy to visit the lighthouses, the beaches, the outdoor restaurants. I’ve seen the photos.”
“ ‘Seemed’ is the operative word,” I said. “The snapshots don’t show what I was feeling, what I was thinking, whether I was sleeping at night.”
“If I had a chance to go to an opossum-friendly place,” Mr. O said, “I wouldn’t grouse about it.”
“ ‘Seemed’ is the operative word,” I said. “The snapshots don’t show what I was feeling, what I was thinking, whether I was sleeping at night.”
“If I had a chance to go to an opossum-friendly place,” Mr. O said, “I wouldn’t grouse about it.”
“MY POINT IS that there’s too much to be scared about,” I said. “Biden may have beaten Trump. And it’s a relief to have him in the White House. But we can’t be complacent about what Republicans are up to: undermining everything that went right in the last election. We can’t spare a minute, a second to ignore what they’re up to.”
“At least up to a point, Phoebe,” Mr. O said, “everything you are saying is on the mark. But we can’t let all of that rob us of enjoying good weather and the other things that are so precious to our lives. That’s just giving way, way too much of ourselves to the Dark Forces.”
“Maybe you’re right," I said. "But I just can’t help it. I live in a constant, unyielding, never-ending cloud of dread. Dread of what’s already happened; dread of the present; dread mostly of what’s to come.”
Mr. O hopped down from his favorite perch atop a fence post, and he strolled around the backyard, taking in the soft summer-like air, the warmth of the late afternoon sunlight. The thermometer read 66.
What was he looking for?
Roses, maybe.
“At least up to a point, Phoebe,” Mr. O said, “everything you are saying is on the mark. But we can’t let all of that rob us of enjoying good weather and the other things that are so precious to our lives. That’s just giving way, way too much of ourselves to the Dark Forces.”
“Maybe you’re right," I said. "But I just can’t help it. I live in a constant, unyielding, never-ending cloud of dread. Dread of what’s already happened; dread of the present; dread mostly of what’s to come.”
Mr. O hopped down from his favorite perch atop a fence post, and he strolled around the backyard, taking in the soft summer-like air, the warmth of the late afternoon sunlight. The thermometer read 66.
What was he looking for?
Roses, maybe.
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