There's No Shame in Taking Care of Your Stuff

Incredibly frustrating morning.

Note from RTT via FB asking me to please tell Max that his (RTT’s) phone is dead, so couldn’t talk last night.

Max hates all social media. Does not do FB. The only way the two brothers can communicate at present is by carrier pigeon and Mom.

I’m absolutely thrilled that Max is doing the Big Brother thing.

And I have an old iPhone 5c lying around in a back drawer, which I’m happy to donate to RTT. Admittedly not the iPhone of a hip 24-year-old’s dream, but it will do in a pinch.

It took me a looooong time to wipe the 5c.

I kept getting error messages: Cannot verify; cannot connect with Apple server; turn off Find-My-iPhone; stand on left foot and recite the Lord’s Prayer backwards. Etc-cetera.

I get that the process can’t be made easy. Otherwise the traffic in stolen iPhones would be even brisker than it already is.

Still, the incomprehensibility of it meant that I spent three hours reading through the archives of various arcane Apple user groups.

Grumble, grumble, grumble.

Plus I don’t understand why RTT’s phones always end up disintegrating after four months. He’s owned—what? A dozen of the damn things in the past decade?

In that same period of time, I’ve owned three, and while they’ve all suffered from the instant obsolescence factor that the venal, disgusting, and altogether corrupt corporation that Apple has now become builds into all its electronics, they’ve all continued to work.

There is no shame in taking care of your stuff!

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Yesterday, I went hiking with Kimberly.

I’m far too pleased with the fact that even though I am 15 years older than Kimberly is, I’m in much better physical shape and left her in the wind.

She brought along her adorable dog Zoe:



The day was bright and sunny when we set out, but a few miles in, the sky turned dark. (See picture above.) Pop-up thunderstorm! It only lasted half an hour or so, and I must say, Kimberly is a very good sport. I personally don’t mind getting rained on in the summertime. In fact, I kinda like it—you dry off soon enough. But most people in that situation complain and complain and complain. Not Kimberly.

Kimberly moved to Woodstock from LA three months ago. There’s probably a story there, but I’m not sure I’ll ever know her well enough to ask what it is.

Don’t get me wrong: I like Kimberly; I admire her pluck and persistence. Following the hike, we had a very interesting conversation over late lunch or early dinner about the assholes on the Woodstock planning board and the architecture of the Hudson Valley.

But in the immortal Sharon ______’s social taxonomy, Kimberly is an “activities partner.”

I will never be emotionally closer to Kimberly or more distant than I am right this very second.

After I said goodbye to Kimberly, I went off to the garden and dispatched 10 pounds or so of weeds. I like weeding. Very meditative. My first Japanese eggplant is big enough to harvest. I have a giant jalapeno, too, and tons of green tomatoes.

I am trying to spend as much time outside absorbing full-spectrum sunlight as I possibly can.

It helps offset this lingering sense of uneasiness.