Marred Goals

From the Chicago Diaries

Always, my joy (if any) is tempered as we approach fourteen thirty-three.¹ Its untended little box of blackened marigolds stands defiantly against all odds. Nearby, a basket hangs from a shepherd’s pole. Its failing blooms make a last-gasp effort to shout magenta. Alas, too many August afternoons have baked it near expiration. Woody stems lie listless and resigned, long past the point of begging for a sip.

Jake is oblivious and lively. His nose buried in the tree lawn—content to inspect every blade of grass. Imagined, behind this façade, an elderly woman, planted in a wooden chair, reflects. A bending creak screams as she labors a shift. Her time-worn limbs too tired and brittle to even consider descending six stone steps to offer water for her best-laid plans.

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Thank you, dear readers, of Line by Line, as always. I feel the need to apologize even though there is no contract. I intend to publish weekly. Though it has only been nine days since my last, it feels longer. I have several essays in mid-production. Why I’ve chosen not to dedicate myself to shoring up one after another wasn’t clear until I ran into a colleague of mine at Wegman’s yesterday. I told her of my dilemma, and she reminded me of her diagnosis—that I am neurodivergent. I agreed without knowing what it meant. I refuse to look it up because it sounds like a negative, so I’m just going to tell myself it means I have a multiplicity of interests.

I have been commissioned to create a painting. I’ve begun repainting my deck, which is the length of a typical privately owned motor yacht. Multiple beds on the property require weeding. Fallen trees and branches need to be tended to. A trip abroad is upcoming. I’m an incessant clean freak. This list is endless. I’m devoted to all. Oh, and the hummingbirds have returned.

1. After re-reading this after posting, this: the address 1433 jump-started my synchronicity. My brother Kent was 14 when our mother died at age 33. I don’t know what it means, if anything. It’s just how my brain works.