Yesterday I ate something for lunch that refused to remain inside my intestinal system for as long as one hopes and expects, leaving me by necessity confined to a small and boring place. On the other hand, I kept thinking, maybe I’ll lose another pound or two. All I had for lunch was a sandwich and a bottle of beer; my wife thinks it was either the salami or the mortadela, since both had been in the fridge for a pretty long time. This classifies as TMI, doesn’t it?
Isn’t this photo from the fine Woody Allen film Manhattan? I can’t tell for sure.
It’s here because it reminds me of my wife, rather, what we like to do together as much as anything, which is sit side by side in some pleasant or interesting place and converse. For one of my birthdays, she gave me a framed print of a stunning photo showing dramatic forest and mountain scenery, with the foreground of the photo dominated by a pair of comfortable (and empty) chairs placed next to one another along a walking path. She wrote on it that the chairs are waiting for us. My scanner is broken, otherwise I would have put that picture here.
I bring this up because of yesterday’s minor episode with bad food. It wasn’t anything more than that, and by the time I went to bed it was pretty much over. But my wife treated me during this time as if I’d been diagnosed with immediately fatal double lung cancer with a heart attack imminent. Maybe when you reach my age, people who love you begin projecting. It was just a stomach ache, after all. There seems to be in those who love us a natural tendency to project toward a time when it will be more, worse. I do it, as well.
That’s why she so much likes pictures like the one above, and why she keeps giving me hints, like the birthday photo of the two empty chairs that wait for us to fill them.
If you understand this, then you are among the chosen. If you do not, please accept my sympathies.
Here we are at the head of the Grand Canal in Trieste, on our way to sit on the dock and watch ships on the Adriatic.