Then I got out of bed and went to work.
Two simple, declarative sentences that pretty much sums up my day.
Sharon Olds writes about a good moment in her day . . .
Bathing the New Born
by: Sharon Olds
to remember the first baths I gave him,
our second child, so I know what to do,
I laid the little torso along
my left forearm, nape of the neck
in the crook of my elbow, hips nearly as
small as a least tern's tail
against my wrist, thigh held loosely
in the loop of thumb and forefinger, the
sign that means exactly right. I'd soap him,
the violet, cold feet, the scrotum
wrinkled as a waved whelk, the chest,
hands, clavicles, throat, gummy
furze of the scalp. When I got him too soapy he'd
slide in my grip like an armful of buttered
noodles, but I'd hold him not too tight,
I felt that I was good for him,
I'd tell him about his wonderful body
and the wonderful soap, and he'd look up at me,
one week old, his eyes still wide
and apprehensive. I love that time
when you croon and croon to them, you can see
the calm slowly entering them, you can
sense it in your clasping hand,
the loose spine relaxing against
the muscle of your forearm, you feel the fear
leaving their bodies, he lay in the blue
oval plastic baby tub and
looked at me in wonder and began to
move his silky limbs at will in the water.
hands, clavicles, throat, gummy
furze of the scalp. When I got him too soapy he'd
slide in my grip like an armful of buttered
noodles, but I'd hold him not too tight,
I felt that I was good for him,
I'd tell him about his wonderful body
and the wonderful soap, and he'd look up at me,
one week old, his eyes still wide
and apprehensive. I love that time
when you croon and croon to them, you can see
the calm slowly entering them, you can
sense it in your clasping hand,
the loose spine relaxing against
the muscle of your forearm, you feel the fear
leaving their bodies, he lay in the blue
oval plastic baby tub and
looked at me in wonder and began to
move his silky limbs at will in the water.
Giving a newborn a bath constitutes a pretty good moment. You simply can’t be angry or sad when something so fragile and tiny is smiling up at you in toothless delight. That’s Olds’ point. Those first baths are filled with grace and blessing.
I did experience a blessing today. I learned a wonderful writer friend of mine was chosen as Writer of the Year for the 2025 Marquette Art Awards. She’s simply a force of nature and art and poetry and prose. She’s also one of the most generous, modest individuals you’ll ever meet. I’ve known her for many years, and she has lifted me up in some very dark times. I’m absolutely thrilled she’s being recognized.
That’s the good thing.
My wife sent me a text around noon today. It basically said: “You know how lucky we are? Our daughter is smart and funny, our son is smart and caring (when not crabby). We both have jobs and food on the table and a roof over our heads. We are so blessed.”
That's the second good thing.
The rest of the afternoon was fairly uneventful. I had a lot of busy work to get done, but it was painless. It was when I picked up my wife from work that things took a turn.
As my wife got into the car, she said to me, “I have some bad news.”
I put the car in park and said, “Okay.”
“I got let go today,” she said.
“What?!”
“The company that bought the business is using a remote call center,” she said, “so they involuntarily terminated me.”
Now, you may recall that my wife left her other job five months ago to accept her current position. She was excited, loved her coworkers, and enjoyed what she did. But, as we all know, corporate America doesn’t really care about all that. (If there’s one thing the current administration in the White House has taught us, it’s that large business enterprises only worry about making money and saving money. Saving money usually involves downsizing, layoffs, and firings. AI has only made this worse.)
That’s bad thing number one.
When we got home, my wife and I discussed our next steps. Over the past year, we have been diligently stashing money away for emergencies. We’d accumulated close to $1500. I went to count how much money we actually had, and I found the envelope almost completely depleted. There was about $148 left. That’s it.
We have no idea what happened to the cash, although we have our suspicions. Nothing that we will ever be able to prove, however. We could file a police report, but we have no evidence, aside from a mostly empty envelope. It’s a complicated situation, and I can’t really say more than that.
I was upset. My wife was upset. Our son was upset. Part of the reason we started the fund was to finance a family vacation next summer after our son graduates from high school. That possibility has become less possible now.
That’s bad thing number two.
So, the plan is to start rebuilding. My wife is going to file for unemployment and begin looking for another job. I’m going to start booking more readings. And we’re all going to have to live more frugally, at least until my wife lands a new position.
I don’t know what I did to piss off God, but I sure had a few choice words for Him this evening, most of them expletives. It’s going to take some time before things are on an even keel again.
Good and bad go together like peanut butter and jelly.
Saint Marty wrote a poem for tonight, based on the following prompt from The Daily Poet:
Find a newspaper or go to your favorite Internet news source and write a poem inspired from one of the headlines. For extra credit, choose a headline about something specific and write a poem that has little to do with that topic.
Radioactive Wasp Nests Have Been Found
Near Former Nuclear Weapons Production Site*
by: Martin Achatz
On days like today,
I wonder what
I’ve done
to deserve
what happened.
Maybe I watched
too much porn
when I was
younger, or maybe
pissed off
some undercover
angel dressed like
a radioactive wasp,
or maybe
the smoke
from Canadian
wildfires is so
thick the miracles
that almighty bastard
upstairs sent my way
got lost, ended
up falling
on the head
of a drunk
at a racetrack
who hit it
big on a 50 to 1
long shot, took
his winnings
back home,
and drank himself
to death.
At least
the fucker died
happy, with enough
cash stuffed
under his mattress
to pay for a funeral
and a nice
marble headstone.
* headline from abcnews.go.com
