I Can See Russia from My House

Some believe their life is composed of what happened. I believe life is also composed of what didn’t happen. Subtle attributes of human behavior such as power-of-stillness and charm -of-confidence are amongst those things that generally suggest nothing is happening. I see great strength and forte in not exposing look-at-me swagger or listen-to-me charisma.

I put my sailorman hat on and prepared for my two miles walk down the hill. Usually there is a routine involved in this. It’s simply one mile walk down the hill, espresso at Citizen Café, and one mile walk up the hill with several steep hills that build up the hindquarters and butt really well.

I get out of the house and immediately run into my neighbors who are all dressed up going to attend the Christmas eve mass. Their lovely daughter endearingly asks me if I’d go to church with them. On the way down, I pass by E’s house who has been trying to sell me currency ETFs for such a long time. I also see that Joe is getting ready to go somewhere with his family. Joe is arguably one of the greatest republicans you can ever find. He’s fearless. In the neighborhood of 99.99% registered liberals, he’s the one who always defends Sarah Palin and tries to explain her “I can see Russia from my house” comment. During last year’s winter storm, my car got stuck on the way up the hill. Joe was the only neighbor who passionately stormed out to help with no qualms. He acted as if the enemy was just a few miles away.

A little further down, only a few blocks I mean, I see my ex-girlfriend’s car that recently, has accidentally moved in to an apartment five blocks away from me. After a few turns a great view of the downtown pops out and makes the rest of the walk down the hill, really pleasant.

I get to the bottom of the hill, and have a coffee at the coffee shop while chatting away with Jay who works at the coffee shop. He’s explaining how the whole process of roasting coffee beans is keeping his mind occupied. Jay is a down to earth chap. He mentions that he also has no plans for the day and that he’s going home after work to watch Gomorrah by Matteo Garrone. There are a couple of women sitting at a table close to the entrance of the coffee shop. They chat and look at us as if they don’t mind a slight Christmas eve flirt. Jay looks at them, I look at Jay, and Jay looks back at me and we don’t say a word -but we both exchange an innate “never mind” facial gesture.

I walk back up while looking at the steep hill ahead. My phone rings and it is a friend with whom I speak a lot about nothing. He invites me over for dinner. I get to the top of the hill and there is a long street full of naked trees – which is basically the plateau of this uneventful endeavor.

I open the front door, walk in to my house and for some odd reason, I feel this overwhelming desire to listen to “You Can’t Fail Me Now” by Loudon Wainwright…

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