I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth. Whenever I bring clouds over the earth and the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will remember my covenant between me and you and all living creatures of every kind. Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life. Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth.”
-Yahweh, Elohim--Genesis 9: 13-16
I found myself thinking of that passage from Genesis as I emerged from canyons of angry, towering thunderstorms to be confronted with a beautiful rainbow arcing out of a storm that was drenching Charlotte. God kissing and making up after another unsuccessful attempt at knocking me out of the sky.
But I don't really believe that nonsense. Do you? The idea that the divine energy would drape a line of severe storms in my path in an attempt to smite me for my sinnerlyness (I'm copyrighting the word, so don't even thing about putting it on your coffee mug), or send me a rainbow as sort of a "no hard feelings" after his smiting comes up short, is all sort of silly. Just like telling a kid that Mom's death from cancer is part of "God's will", as if these armchair theologians have the slightest idea. Or hypothesizing that their friend who died in agony of some wasting something-or-other is now "fishing with Jesus", a favorite phrase uttered at Baptist funerals. For me fishing always meant copious volumes of cheap beer washing down vienna sausages. I don't think Baptist heaven accommodates either. So I'll pass on the eternal fishing trip, thank you very much.
And isn't that existence beyond space and time heaven for fish, as well? Picture swimming along in some heavenly pond, thinking maybe this God fellow isn't so bad if this is how you get to spend eternity as a spiritual crappie. Hey, there's a delicious looking worm (what's his heaven, exactly? If crappies thought about theology, they'd see this as a warning), and *WHAM* the worm ends up wrapped around a hook, and the next thing you know you're flopping around on a beautiful, verdant river bank with some scruffy hippie and Rush Limbaugh looking down at you.
Nope, you can have all that.
Ah, the things one, I, think about droning along in that plane and watching Hal the Computer perform his magic trick of flying the Columbia halfway across the country while I stare out the window and contemplate life. Or study for the MPRE, our profession's ethic's exam, as I did on this trip. The test is on the 10th, my last impediment to New York licensure, I mean besides my disreputable moral character.
The board was, until a few days ago, also requiring that I re-take the New York Law Exam, an open book complement to the Uniform Bar Exam, after I rewatched the whole damn mandatory video series before taking the exam in March, mindful that it had been over a year since I originally watched the videos, only to have Covid derail my plans to take the exam two Februaries ago. You see, one must watch the videos no more than a year before the exam, and my technical incompetence meant I had no proof of those incredibly dull weekends at Wyldswood watching the video bar review course all over again. So I did what any good litigator would do, appealed to New York's highest court, told them my story in a funny, self-deprecating way that had the advantage of also being the truth. And damn if they didn't grant my petition, and tell the board to treat my passing NYLE score as truly passing. So the MPRE is all that's left.
I'm writing this tonight, only minutes after walking through the door of 407 and wolfing down a plate of Peg's red beans and rice, knowing I must get out of bed at 5:15 tomorrow morning and point the truck toward Crestview by six for a full day of depositions there. It would just be too easy to skip a day on the blog, again, but once that becomes a habit it's easy to envision this whole diary of the pandemic and post-pandemic time for us drifting into oblivion. So I'll write tonight, and avoid two lost workdays in a row.
Last Friday I impulsively decided after my lunchtime appointment to fly back to New York for the delight of two mornings awakening and seeing P on the next pillow. The flight was a new record for me--four hours and eight minutes from ECP to ELM, nonstop, me with a cannula hanging out of my nostrils at 15,000 feet. I arrived so soon, in fact, that P wasn't there to greet me. She agreed to watch the girls when it seemed I'd be gone this past weekend, and they were just walking out of a movie on Market Street as I touched down. But it was all a bonus for me, because I was greeted by not only P but also Lily and Juju, who all insisted it was time for ice cream (when isn't it time for ice cream with these New Yorkers?) while I replenished our woefully depleted wine stocks down the street at the likky store. Then the girls curled up in front of our TV watching cartoons as P and I caught up after two weeks apart, and were dead asleep not long after they finished their frozen treats. P took one girl in her arms and I took another, carrying them upstairs to their room for the night. It was a great thing. I don't have a way to describe it. This must be what being a grandparent feels like.
The "kids" showed up midday Saturday from their wedding debauch to pick up the girls, and once it was just us Peg and I went to work on the yard, which has gone to seed in my absence. The debris pile was formidable, as was the instruction sheet from the nanny state people at the City of Corning regarding how to dispose of lawn waste in our fair city.
But we're not New Yorkers. We're Southerners, scofflaws in a self-defeating sort of way.
So we quickly tired of making sense of the city's instructions, and just made a big 'ole fire in our backyard, burning the trimmings and creating a cloud of ash and smoke that hung balefully over the neighborhood and our next-door neighbor's laundry drying on a line barely ten yards from the scene of the crime.
Deano sat fascinated and perplexed.
Peg sure is pretty though, isn't she? I don't want to objectify her, but I could look at that face all day. Even when it seems to be saying, "Snap that photo and I'll pull your lungs out."
Once we'd endangered dozens of historically significant homes with our pyromania, it was off to the Corning Country Club for a little golf. And shopping for Peg. Because one can never have too many golf blouses.
We had a wonderful time, so wonderful in fact that our planned nine holes stretched into seventeen. That was when I par'd a hole on this most difficult of golf courses, and we agreed maybe it was time to quit while we were ahead.
From the golf course we made our way to the Cellar for their gourmet popcorn, a little charcuterie, and four very expensive glasses of wine. The owners are new friends of ours, and she came out to visit with us as we dined. The place was half empty at the peak hour of a beautiful Saturday night. These gas prices are starting to take a toll.
P and I ended the evening curled up on the couch watching Parenthood, a movie I've loved for decades but P's never seen. And she still hasn't, after dozing off on the couch not even halfway into the film. Maybe next time.
Today a pall hung over everything, the knowledge that I needed to fly back to PC later for work. We took a late breakfast, walked up the hill to say hello to Amo and all our long-dead friends, and then it was time to take your author to the airport for the flight south. The first leg was a challenging meander through bad thunderstorms from Pittsburgh to south of Charlotte, while during the second I sat in the darkness, crescent of a moon hanging overhead, thinking of how beautiful it all is, and how I wish I could share it although the camera doesn't do it justice.
But mostly I just want to be with P, wherever that may be, and get on with life together. This is grand, this sprawling in our condo with panoramic views of the bay. But it's not what matters in life, is it? Time grows short, and every day I spend down here toiling in the vineyards is a day we won't get back. Time to fix all that.
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