It’s been decades since I raced raindrops across a windowpane. It’s now for me no longer a pastime practiced on long bus and train rides, but a means of keeping me off Solitaire and its brethren games on my computer. I’ve tied my wins and losses to the fate of my household, our community, this nation and the world.
Chalk up another plus for the coronavirus shutdown. People are finally admitting how much Solitaire they play. They’re even streaming movies while the sun shines.
There’s green outside the rain-streaked window, and blue skies and sun in the forecast for several days this week. Should I try and force my son to join me on the Ashokan rail-trail? I’m afraid he’ll be turned off by the number of oldsters, power walking and on bikes, almost everyone panting through a wide array of increasingly hipsterish masks. Or he’ll be annoyed by how close to the road it sometimes runs, although the place I want to get to is that final push into wilderness west of Shokan. Maybe I’ll take the dog, although I prefer her joy off leash, and don’t relish the admonitions one gets for allowing such aberrant behavior.
We go. Milo refuses to wear a mask. He and his teen and pre-teen friends say they’d rather stay in than be seen outside wearing what us oldsters wear.
I take the dog off-trail, across some fields I know from years past. We see no one else walking, not even any cars. We come back to the car wet and a bit chilled. Milo’s talking a mile a minute. He’s going to take a bubble bath when we get home. It’s Taco Tuesday, too!
Do daily blogs need a narrative line? Or is the narrative playing out around us sufficient to provide continuity?
As we’re driving home, Milo goes into a daze as his phone recharges. I ask what’s on his mind.
“Chasing raindrops,” he says.
That’s my boy.