This past winter was a day at the beach for a writer. Buried under 100 inches of snow, surrounded by 10 ft. tall drifts, my office became the adult version of a child’s snow fort. Trapped in a blue crystalline world with my imagination and my muses I was hard at work. Sorta, kinda….until the snow melted and the muses abandoned.
Today I saw two articles in my local daily honoring youth who had died of heroin overdoses. One was from a mother who wanted others to know her son was more than an addict, although heroin was the final definition of his 23 years on earth. He also loved baseball, his nephews and Friday night movies. He died on her couch at 3 am on Christmas morning, just 9 days into sobriety.
“Let ME finish making the bed and YOU advise Genevieve if she is having a heart attack,” I bargain with my husband, Joe.
Joe and I have always divided the common labors of a long marriage based on talents, skills and interests. It has been a fair distribution. I feed the cats and he changes the litter. When it comes to medical questions we double-team it.
‘The first requisite of civilization… is that of justice.”
—–Sigmund Freud