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Resiliently Happy

My first act of resistance involved goat cheese. I discovered that a diced avocado sprinkled with pepper and smoked salt, slathered in Tlaquepaque sauce, and eaten with a crumble of chevre, is in fact the perfect salad.
This is resistance—this is revolutionary—because I was at work while the Inauguration dropped onto the Capitol’s West Front like a toupeed load of guano, and I was looking forward to being with my penguins as the great alternative. (It was Penguin Awareness Day, after all—not just ‘Breaking the Seventh Seal Day’).
I told my friend and colleague: “Gonna just plug my phone in, but turn it face-down, I think.”
Which I did. For the most part.
“At least I have a good lunch.”
Work was closed because of inclement weather, and the winds hit hard mid-afternoon. We were inside, though, and with the park being closed, we rearranged our day to just do everything as a team, to be in each others’ company. We played with the kids, this year’s brood, down still clinging fast to little penguin heads; we prepared for a fund-raising benefit slated for a hopefully less tempest-tossed Saturday.
I had my avocado salad. It was really good, and it kept me in the moment, whereas—all nights this week—I’ve been staying up late, worrying, unsure about the future.
The freeways were littered with palm husks and there were felled trees along Morley Field.
Back at home it was quiet. Jenn dropped Cayde off at a friend’s house for a few hours, Finn was asleep after some rounds of PT at school. Jenn and I circled the kitchen, alternately talking about the day and the DAY while putting away food and backpacks and rain-clothes. The kitchen light was muted, which seemed appropriate. There was a 9/11 feeling, but something, something, else.
When kissing Jenn, she smiled. She then took a step back.
“You ready?”
And 1-2-3, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around my waist while I caught her by the seat of her jeans. We’re both strong these days, and in different ways. Resiliently happy.
(This morning we both weighed ourselves on the scale, and we weighed EXACTLY the same, down to the tenth of a pound. And, after a cup of coffee in bed, my wife pulled on her yoga clothes—yoga, which we should all do after yesterday—and decided, on a whim to just go in her pants and sports top. She looks fantastic. She never would have done this before, but her core is starting to show definition, and I told her that I was proud of her).
At work, we played with a Lilliputian-small Macaroni kid named ‘Tank.’ Trump wanted tanks at his Inaugural Parade. Tanks. Like some Yeltsin bluster-cluster. He was told tanks would tear up Pennsylvania Avenue, already proof that Trump gives no fucks about infrastructure.
The infrastructure HERE, though, is intact. I put the kids to bed last night and they fell asleep in record time. And then I wriggled out of a pile of boys and bedsheets to purchase Jenn a bottle of wine, there still being a 9/11 feeling, which required anesthetization of nervous stomachs.
I wrote to my friends last night, I sat in my usual place by the front window and listened to the rain. I went to bed on time with Jenn, choosing to not worry about the atomic bomb, and I held her tight.

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