Cold water flat

It’s Sunday morning, our first morning home after vacation. It’s nice to be home. It’s nice to be in my own surroundings. We don’t have any hot water but that’s a minor and temporary inconvenience that will be remedied soon. And the people who say that cold showers are refreshing are pretty much correct, but I’m not sure I’d be so easygoing about this if the water heater was broken during a January cold spell rather than an August heat wave. Timing is everything. 

*****

We got home at 2:30 on Saturday. We unpacked immediately, and I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning an already pretty-clean house, doing laundry, swimming, and catching up on work. I had planned to remain completely offline until Tuesday but I’m glad I spent a few hours working. Now I know what I have to do next week, and knowing what I have to do is half the proverbial battle. 

And speaking of knowing what I have to do, the larder is bare, so it’s time to restock. I’m off to the grocery store. Details at 11. 

******

I yield to no one in my appreciation for a hot shower, but a cold shower on a hot day can be quite lovely too. It’s Monday now, and we expect to have the water heater repaired in the next day or so, but for now, we’re just fine. Washing in cold water is a good reminder that we’re lucky to be able to wash any time we want, even in cold water. Not everyone is so lucky. 

And if you are able to do it, then I can’t recommend strongly enough taking an extra day at the end of vacation. We went to a neighborhood party yesterday, and it was that much more fun knowing that I didn’t have to go to work the next morning. My son goes back to school on Saturday so we’ll maybe do some supply shopping, and then I’ll run a few errands and go swimming or walking (it’s quite cool today) and then make dinner at home for the first time since August 7 or so. I’m sitting outside, and the yard and patio are a mess after an evening thunderstorm, so I’ll start by cleaning up out here a bit.  

*****

As always, vacation has to end; and as (almost) always, I don’t mind that much. Work was hectic, of course, but I’m catching up. And cold showers notwithstanding, I’m still in the “it’s nice to be home” mindset. What’s not great is that I am one of the few people still hanging on to summer. My husband is hosting not one but two fantasy football draft parties in the next two weeks. The house, which was ship-shape on Sunday, is now a staging ground for my son’s college move-in on Saturday. And with the second cloudy, cool day in a row, the fall fans are out there with their transitional sweaters and their Starbucks cups. I don’t ask for much. Just please let summer be summer until Labor Day - which is, of course, on gosh-darn September 1 this year because 2025 can’t stop being an asshole for even five minutes. 

*****

Loath as I am to admit it (and I am very much loath to admit it), there are a few things about the transition from summer to fall that I do not quite hate. Take Tuesday night, for example. I finished work at 5:15 and did some quick dinner prep, and then I went to the pool. Because I am a dedicated pool denizen - a pool rat, as we say here in the neighborhood - I know what many people do not know, which is that in a big pool like ours, the water takes a few days to cool, even when the weather changes. This means that on Monday, a cool and cloudy day in marked contrast to the weekend’s intense heat, the water was still very warm. It remained cool through the night on Monday and Tuesday also dawned cool and pearly gray, with a little bit of rain here and there. People who are not in the know would assume that it would now be officially too cold to swim, but those people would be wrong. 

The air was cool enough that I could have comfortably worn long sleeves - maybe even a light sweater. Instead, I put on my suit and wrapped up in a towel and went swimming. There were, of course, a bunch of kids in the pool because they are also pool rats who know (and during the last week before school starts those kids would be swimming even if they had to break up ice on the surface) and one other lap swimmer. The water had cooled a bit more since Monday but it was still lovely - just chilly enough to shock the system a little bit on entry, and then quite comfortable a few laps in. Getting out was no joke, but I had two towels with me, and after a few minutes in the hot shower in the changing room and a few minutes wrapped in dry towels, I was right as rain. 

*****

It’s Thursday. We still don’t have hot water at home and the pool water is also pretty darn cold after a few days of chilly overnight temperatures. Swimming in the cold water on a cloudy cool day is nice but not as nice as swimming on a hot day with the water sparkling in the sun. And I’m finding that the cold showers that are really quite delightful at 8:30 AM on a hot day are far less delightful at 6 AM on a 60-degree morning. But I’m standing on my belief that I’m lucky to have clean running water at all, when so many people do not. And there’s nothing wrong with a little discomfort. There’s nothing wrong with starting the day with just a tiny bit of suffering. 

Still, I’ll admit that I was happy to see the box containing the needed parts, which arrived at our house yesterday; and I’ll be overjoyed when the technician actually comes to fix the water heater. The water was freezing this morning. I’m still a little cold just thinking about it. 

***** 

It’s Friday now. For the last week, I have lived with as close to pioneer conditions as I’m willing to endure - no hot water AND no washer (the washer, which had been on its last legs, gave up the ghost the day after the water heater stopped working). And now I am back in the 21st century, where I belong. After one last icy cold shower this morning (the water seemed to get colder every day) and one last day of cramming dirty clothes into the laundry hamper so that the lid would close, I am now equipped with a functioning water heater and a brand-new washing machine. I feel rich, and I am very excited for a warm shower later. Meanwhile, I am going swimming now, and I expect that the water temperature will have dropped a few degrees since my last pool visit on Tuesday. And that’s fine. It’ll take more than cold water to scare me out of the pool. 

Taylor Swift and Thomas Cromwell: Beach Week 2025

It's Beach Week!

Right now, it's Saturday August 9. It's 1157 and the car is packed and my husband is in the house doing his last minute checks, and we'll be on the road by 1202. 

The forecast for this week looks solid. It's quite hot today, bright and sunny, and it feels beachy even here in Silver Spring. The crape myrtle are at peak color, and Stone Harbor will be in wild full bloom too. 

*****

My sister is already in Stone Harbor. They arrive on Saturday morning even though you can't check in until 3. My sister in-law and her family are about 90 minutes ahead of us. My friend and her family have not left yet because she has a few canine and feline patients this morning. She owns her own practice. She's basically a 21st century James Herriot. But even a veterinarian needs a vacation. 

*****

We have a roof carrier, which I hate, and it's making an unsettling amount of noise right now. That's probably the only thing that's bothering me right now. There needs to be something. I'm not comfortable when I don't have something to worry about. 

*****

Traffic is dreadful as usual on 95 on a Saturday in August. But we just crossed the Delaware Memorial Bridge and we're in New Jersey. We're listening to the Springsteen channel on Sirius XM as fitting, and Rosalita’s daddy is just about to miss his chance to get his daughter in a fine romance. 

*****

It's Sunday morning now. Five minutes ago, a flock of seagulls were squawking and screeching over my head and now they're gone. It was so loud I couldn't hear myself thinking. 

Now it's quiet and calm, with the only noise coming from the fishing boats on the bay a few feet from our deck, and a few Sunday morning bikers and runners and dog walkers. A lone seagull is perched on the roof on the house across the courtyard, and he appears to be watching me. I'm drinking coffee, and maybe he's hoping I'll bring breakfast out on the deck. Maybe a muffin or some toast or an egg sandwich. But I don't eat anything in the morning so that bird is out of luck unless he wants a nice cup of Cafe Bustelo. 

*****

Our rental condo is very basic, but nice. If I face west on my deck, I can see the bay. If I face east, I can see the pool. We're two blocks from the beach but they're densely built blocks so I'd have to climb up on the roof to see the ocean. But two water views is pretty good, and I'll get to look at the ocean all afternoon. 

*****

The weather is perfect here. The vibe, however, is unsettled. The Jersey Shore has always leaned MAGA but that element was quiet for a few years. Last year, I hardly saw any Trump signs or flags on the island - it was such a marked difference from 2016 and 2020 that I really thought that Kamala could win. Would win, I should say. 

It feels different now. And it's not as simple as flags and signs and red hats. I still haven't seen much of that. But the vibe is definitely off. Something doesn’t feel right. 

*****

Still, it was a perfect beach day yesterday, with 75 degree ocean water. I love swimming in the ocean, and I barely got in at all last year because we were here during a freak cold snap with ocean water temps in the mid 60s, very unusual for August. It was the talk of the town. But yesterday was perfect for ocean swimming. I used to love PG Wodehouse’s Jeeves and Wooster books, and I remembered a line from a letter from Jeeves to Bertie during a rare seaside holiday from the gentleman’s personal gentleman: “I had an exceedingly enjoyable bathe yesterday.” We, too, had an exceedingly enjoyable bathe yesterday - several in fact. 

It’s Monday now. The sun is out and the sky is pale blue and gold but it’s also quite cloudy so the sunlight is filtered. I haven’t looked at news coverage - online or on TV - since Saturday, but today, I’m anxiously monitoring the news. 47 is about to “federalize” the District of Columbia, and I dread the idea of the National Guard on the streets of DC. Martial law is not out of the realm of possibility, either. Whatever is in the Epstein files, it must be really bad, because DC is as safe as any other place. I am there all the time, and I never feel threatened or even uncomfortable, except when the Capitals lose to Pittsburgh and Penguins fans occupy the steps of the National Portrait Gallery. It’s all very wrong, and very upsetting, and it doesn’t feel right to be here looking at the bay and watching seagulls while all of this is happening or about to happen. 

*****

And it happened. 

It's Tuesday morning now. It's overcast and the water in the bay is the same pearly silvery gray as the sky. I love sunny beach days but I really love watching the bay and hearing the seagulls on an overcast morning. 

I texted my friends who work at CBO and the State Department to see if they were OK. My CBO friend was WFH but my State Department friend was in her office in Foggy Bottom, watching Guardsmen arrive. We're planning a girls trip to Baghdad because if DC is twice as violent as Baghdad then Baghdad must be the safest place on God's green earth. The whole thing would be funny if it wasn't a complete and utter outrage.  

Meanwhile here in Stone Harbor, if you didn't know what was happening, you really would not know what was happening. I guess that could be a good thing. 

*****

It’s Wednesday now. No matter what is happening in the world, Beach Week always passes with blinding speed. Wednesday is the day when we start to reckon with the passage of (vacation) time. We need to figure out what we want to do and where we want to go before the end of the week, which is coming sooner than we think. 

I texted a friend and colleague yesterday. We’re working on a project together, and I had an idea that I wanted to share with her before I forgot about it. I told her that it felt weird and wrong to be on vacation this week, with everything that’s going on, and she texted back that vacationing and resting and enjoying life are radical acts of rebellion in a world that wants us always busy and productive. True to a certain extent, I suppose, but my guilt feelings about vacation have nothing to do with work ethic or productivity. It just feels solipsistic to be out here swimming and biking and collecting shells with all of this (gesturing wildly at everything) going on. It feels like radical rebellion is the radical act of rebellion that’s called for in these circumstances. 

*****

It’s Thursday now, another near-perfect day in this near-perfect week, weather-wise. I’m sick with what I suspect is a mild case of COVID, which is apparently making an uninvited and unwelcome comeback. What else, 2025? Lay it on us. 

No, don’t. Never mind. Forget I said that. 

Yesterday morning, my younger son and his girlfriend, who was spending a few days with us, and I walked to 96th Street, the shopping and restaurant hub of Stone Harbor. The area between 95th and 99th Streets, a few blocks north and south and east and west, is filled with cute little boutiques and coffee shops and restaurants and ice cream places and everything else you’d expect to see in an upscale beach town like Stone Harbor. 

We had a particular destination - Coffee Talk, a coffee house on 97th Street famous for having hosted a very young Taylor Swift during her very early performing days. Taylor’s family vacationed in Stone Harbor, and the young Taylor sang and played her guitar at several local establishments. Coffee Talk, a retro 90s coffee house filled with art and comfortable couches and mismatched rugs, might be the only one of Taylor’s original venues that is still doing business, and there is - of course - a little display of Taylor photos and memorabilia. My son’s girlfriend, a huge Taylor Swift fan, wanted to visit and have coffee and drink in the Taylor vibes, and it was lovely. The kids enjoyed their pastries and drinks. I enjoyed their company and the retro atmosphere (authentic, since the place was actually established in 1995) and of course, a very sweet frozen mocha that was like having a milkshake for breakfast. And then later, social media was abuzz with talk of Taylor’s new album and her appearance on Travis Kelce’s podcast, so Taylor just dominated the conversation yesterday. Well, better Taylor than some other people I can think of. 

After an hour or so of visiting little stores and looking at clothing and trinkets, we started our walk back home, stopping first at my beloved Barrier Island Books on 95th. I overheard a man asking the bookseller if she had anything by Hilary Mantel and because Stone Harbor is a friendly place, I chimed in. “She’s one of my favorite authors.” 

“Mine too,” said the man. “Trying to sell my granddaughter on her,” he said, indicating a young woman who was browsing. “What’s your favorite?” he asked me.

“I love all of her writing,” I said, “and I might like her essays as much as her fiction. But the Wolf Hall trilogy is one of the best things I’ve ever read. It got me through the summer of 2020.” 

“See that?” he said, inclining his head in my direction to his laughing granddaughter. “Unsolicited testimonial.” 

“OK,” she said. “I’ll try her.” The bookseller found copies of Bring up the Bodies and The Mirror and the Light, but not Wolf Hall. The granddaughter said that she was familiar with Henrician and Elizabethan history, making it easily possible for her to enjoy the last two books in the trilogy without reading the first. They walked out with hardback copies of both books. Maybe I’ll run into them again, and I can ask the granddaughter what she thinks. 

*****

It’s Friday now, our last full day at the beach. A brief thunderstorm yesterday afternoon was the only flaw in a week of near-perfect beach weather. And it didn’t start until about 4 PM, not long before we’d have been leaving the beach anyway; and it was over by 7:30. 

The ocean water has been warm and delightful, if you don’t mind a lot of seaweed, and I don’t. I swam in the ocean every day this week and then swam in the pool right after the beach. And then there’s the lovely late afternoon beach siesta time when the rest of my household naps for a bit, and I enjoy the quiet alone time. First I spend a few minutes on basic housekeeping, and then I sit on the deck reading my book while my hair dries. I discovered yet another mid-20th century British woman author this week, and I’ll tell you all about her very soon. Right now, I’m reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, which I have never read before, and which seems very relevant right now. Now every time I look at Kristi Noem or Pete Hegseth, I’m going to wonder if there’s a painting in an attic somewhere. 

*****

Well that was quick. 

It's Saturday morning now. We were up at 7 and out of our beach condo at 915 and now we're on the road back to Maryland. I'll miss the beach and the lovely bay views from our deck but I'm happy to be going home. I miss home. I even miss work but I won't be back until Tuesday. I've always wanted to tack on an extra day at the end of a vacation and I'm doing it this time. It'll be good to have a summer day. 

There's not much summer left. My son returns to school a week from today. Labor Day weekend is in two weeks. Meteorological summer still has a month but I mark the end of the summer season by the pool schedule and the start of the school year. 

*****

Other than the bookends of the occupation of DC and the shameful Trump - Putin “summit" in Alaska, I haven't paid any attention to current events this week. Our beach condo had 3 TVs and I didn't even know how to turn them on. I didn't stream, scroll, or read any news coverage on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday. I read Elizabeth Caddell, David Sedaris, and Oscar Wilde. I watched bits of movies and shows and baseball and football games with my husband and sons. It was nice not to see his face or hear his voice for a few days. A nice break. 

We're on Route 55 N right now, somewhere in the swamps of Jersey, with Springsteen keeping us company.  God willing we'll be home by 1. There's lots of work to do after a week away and I'm not going to slow down until everything is unpacked, washed, organized, and stowed neatly away.  It's nice to get away but there's no place like home.

Elements

It’s 10 o’clock on Saturday morning, and I’m sitting on my patio to let my hair dry in the breeze. The heat wave finally broke yesterday and this morning it’s sunny and cool but not chilly. This afternoon it will be warm but not hot. We’re not expecting storms or floods or stifling heat for the next few days. I like the heat, but this is a nice break for people who don’t. 

Yesterday, it was overcast and gray and cool - no warmer than 72 or so even at midday. I worked from home, and then I went swimming. During last week’s heat wave, the pool water had warmed to literal bathwater temperature. It was too warm, and if the water is too warm for me then it’s too warm for pretty much anyone. I was still swimming in it, of course, but swimming laps in 85 degree water is exhausting. 

But after Thursday’s storms and Friday’s cool temperatures, the water cooled a few degrees. It was still very warm, though, and of all swimming scenarios, warm water on a cool cloudy day is my very favorite. I finished work at 445 or so, and was in the water by 5. It was the best 45 minutes of the entire week. 

*****

It’s Sunday now. Yesterday was one of the quietest weekend days of this summer - the first in many weeks when I didn't have to do anything or go anywhere. It was lovely. I read a lot, and napped a little bit, and went swimming. Of course I also went grocery shopping, and did laundry, and cleaned the house and made a simple dinner. I need to have things ship-shape, even on a day off, and I do not have a staff. 

*****

I’ve been shopping too much. It’s like 2020 again, when waiting for packages was the highlight of my lockdown week. “Out for Delivery” - I loved clicking on a tracking number and seeing the Out for Delivery status.  And then there was the fun of opening the package and trying on a new sweater or moving all my stuff into a new purse. And believe it or not, the excess shopping didn’t hurt my finances at all, really. I was saving a lot of money elsewhere - I hardly ever needed gas, and we didn’t go out because there was nowhere to go - and even with weekly donations to food banks and shelters and other causes, I always felt like I had money to spend. 

Fast forward to 2025. My income has increased very slightly but my expenses have increased rather dramatically (although now we’re back to just one child in college, so that’s something of a relief) but I’m back to my 2020 shopping habits, and it’s time to rein it in a bit. For at least the next three months, I’m not buying anything I don’t need, except books. And I always need books so that’s not even an exception. 

*****

Well, we’ll see. That three-month embargo might start later this month because I’m on vacation next week. We’re only going to the beach (only, she says, as if a week at the beach is not quite good enough) and I might need a new Stone Harbor hoodie or t-shirt. Vacation shopping is very similar to vacation eating. It does not count. Check back with me on August 19. 

Yes, August 19 is a Tuesday, because for the first time ever, I am taking an extra day of vacation after we return from our trip. I’ve always wanted to do this, and now I have the time, and I’m going to do it. I have a lot to do so I’ll probably spend it running errands and catching up on everything I neglected during my week away, but that’s as good a way to spend a day as any other. Sometimes it’s nice to just have a day that’s just a day, especially in the summer, and especially when the summer is winding down so fast. The child who just came home for the summer (and who has been out and about every day and night as I suppose he should be) is returning to school on August 24. Labor Day and the Autumnal Equinox are meaningless - as far as I’m concerned, summer is over the moment a kid has to return to school. 

*****

As much as I hate the end of summer, I am also developing a grudging, slight affection for certain aspects of fall. The college swim season starts early this year, with an away meet against Duke and Boston College. A little weekend trip to North Carolina will be fun. I couldn’t care less about football, but I love hockey, and post-season baseball is fun, too. I like fall foliage. I like to sit next to an outdoor fire. I like to wear sweaters and jackets. And I love Thanksgiving

And that’s about it, really. Summer is the best, and it’s not even close. More than the warm weather and sunshine and swimming and long days, I love the freedom of summer, even if it’s illusory freedom. And it IS illusory freedom. It’s not like I take the summer off or anything. It’s not like I have a maid from May to September. It’s not like I stop being me. In fact, with one kid out of school altogether and the other in college and no longer in need of rides to school and practice and games and meets, I’m really no less free in the winter than in the summer. Summer just feels more relaxed. 

*****

It’s Thursday night now and vacation is just a day away. I’m very much looking forward to a week at the beach. My sister and her family and my sister-in-law and her family and my friend and neighbor and her family will all be there too. Separate houses, thankfully, because that would probably be more togetherness than I could take. Because I am the one person connected with everyone in this group, I expect to be pretty popular next week; even more so than usual, that is. The last time we were all at the beach together, I’d be on the deck having coffee at 8 AM or so, and my phone would start blowing up with messages about dinner plans. I learned quickly to just not answer those texts because I’d see everyone later that morning on the beach, and we could just figure it out then. Maybe I should just block everyone. 

*****

Friday, 5 PM. I’m officially on vacation now, kind of. “Kind of” because something hit the proverbial fan today and I’ll probably need to work for a bit on and off over the weekend, and maybe for an hour or two here or there during the week. It happens. It’s not the end of the world. 

Meanwhile, I’m done for today until or unless something else happens, so I’m trying to decide between a walk and a swim. Normally, this is the easiest decision in the world. Swimming is pretty much always the answer. But the temperatures have dropped quite a bit during this last week, and the water temperatures have fallen too. I swam on Wednesday after a couple of days away from the pool, and it was a slight shock to my system, which has become accustomed to swimming in Jacuzzi-like water. But I adjusted, and it was lovely. It’s no warmer today, but it’s been sunny all day so maybe the water has warmed up a degree or two. At the least, maybe it hasn’t gotten any colder. I think I just made my decision. I think I talked myself into the pool. I’ll report back later. 

Black Widows and Cul de Sacs

As planned, I read Leslie Gray Streeter’s Black Widow and Louise Kennedy’s The End of the World is a Cul de Sac; and as promised, I am reporting back. Unsurprisingly, both books are very good. Surprisingly, they have something in common even though the former is a memoir by a Black American woman and the latter is a collection of short stories by an Irish woman. 

Black Widow is the story of Leslie Gray Streeter’s husband’s sudden and untimely death and its aftermath, including overwhelming grief and the risk of losing her child because she and her husband had been in the middle of adopting the child when he died of a heart attack. Spoiler alert - Gray Streeter succeeds in completing the adoption on her own. The story ends in a Baltimore courtroom in July 2016, just a year after her husband’s death, with a judge declaring her to be the adoptive mother of the child whom she and her husband had cared for together for over a year. 

*****

The book is very sad and very funny - sad because it’s a memoir of grief, and funny because Leslie Gray Streeter is just funny. It’s also very honest about the practical aspects of spousal grief. You had a partner; someone who helped with the children or took care of the finances or the cars or handled the housework or the cooking - every marriage has its own division of labor. And then all of a sudden, everything falls on you, at a time when you’re not even able to handle your own share of the work. 

As Streeter tells it, grief isn’t just one thing - it’s the sadness and the loss and missing the person who’s gone. It’s the fond memories, remembering the things about that person and about your life together that were happy and fun and funny. And it’s exhausting, knowing that the person you shared the load with is gone and the burden is yours alone now. She is very honest about that last part - as a reader, I could almost feel her exhaustion as she tried to take care of herself and her child amid household moves and funeral arrangements and adoption hiccups - things that are hard enough anyway and that become almost impossible when you lose your literal other half. 

*****

Black Widow is a true story and The End of the World is fiction (short stories). Most of the stories’ main characters are women - married, single, mothers, childless - and all of them seem connected to the land even when they live in the city or the suburbs. These stories are alive with natural beauty - flowers and plant life, sunlight and clouds, water. Louise Kennedy has a real understanding of the natural world and its effects on people, and she uses outdoor settings - beaches and cliffs and forests and farmland - to great effect. Her characters know the land - they understand the soil and they can identify any and every flower and tree and bird. They can read the sky. They understand creation in a way that has always baffled me, a city girl. 

*****

But I said that there was a connection between these two books, didn’t I? It comes back to grief. In most of the stories, a character has lost someone - a child, a spouse, an almost-fiance - and they are trying to figure out how to continue living in the aftermath of the loss. And just like Leslie Gray Streeter in Black Widow, they must navigate what the world thinks of as grief - the tears and the sadness and the loneliness for the person lost - and the practical aspects of loss, like how to manage the things that the person lost used to take care of, and how to handle the paperwork and the administrative details of death.

And of course, the grieving person must also take care of others who are grieving the same loss. In “Powder,” a young woman named Eithne escorts the American mother of her late fiancee on a tour of her son’s favorite places in Ireland. Only at the end (spoiler alert) do we learn that the two had never actually been engaged - the man had told his mother that he was going to be married, but had never actually gotten around to proposing. The mother, Sandy, assumes that the two had been engaged, and Eithne doesn’t have the heart or the energy to disabuse her of that notion. Eithne’s grief is real and in some ways harder than the grief of a widow or fiancee because she thinks that she doesn't deserve to grieve. 

*****

I loved both of these books. I don’t think I’d have seen any connection between them, though, if I hadn’t read the authors’ other books, Family and Other Calamities, Streeter’s novel; and Kennedy’s Trespasses, which also had something in common. I looked for another common theme because I like connections. I like symmetry. 

Not a drill

Right around this time last year, I wrote about a fire drill at the Navy base where I work. It happened on a beautiful August day, and we all took our time strolling away from our desks. We gathered in our own good time on the ball field behind the library, teasing each other about how nonchalant we all were. “What would you people do if it was a real fire?” Several people predicted, correctly, that our very poor performance on this drill pretty much guaranteed that another drill would follow soon. We did much better the second time. 

It’s 11 in the morning now, on a hot sunny Thursday, the last day in July, and this time it’s not a drill. And it’s not a fire. There’s an active shooter on the base, and I’m sitting in a locked office with the window blinds closed and my phone on silent. The only noise is the faint hum of an air purifier and the repeated warnings from the “Big Voice” system, muffled through the locked doors. 

What in the actual hell? That’s all I can think of right now. Well, I’m also thinking about food, because I’m hungry and didn’t bring lunch today and can’t go to the cafeteria to get lunch. At least I have a banana. 

*****

It’s Friday night now, the day after the almost-active shooter incident. “Almost” because the person was real and the incident was real and not a drill, but the gun was fake. If that isn’t a metaphor for 2025, the literal dumbest year on record, then I don’t know what is. 

The whole thing was over in 45 minutes. My husband, who is a detective with Montgomery County Police, texted me when the “suspect” was arrested, and the Navy police gave the all-clear about 15 minutes later. We were all relieved, of course, but I think we all felt a little silly afterward. I felt a little silly afterward, anyway. And I wasn’t even scared - concerned, but not scared. The building where the person was first reported was far enough from my building that the shooter (as we believed him to be) would need a few minutes to get to us, and by then, he’d have been caught. And believe it or not, I’m not afraid of a person with a gun. Tell me that there’s a rat or a rabid coyote or an ax-wielding madman on the loose, and I’ll be properly terrified. But I’d try to tackle a shooter, or beat him with my 45-pound Tory Burch work tote. 

Still, it’s just as well that I didn’t have to. We all opened our doors and our window blinds, and we went about the rest of our day as though nothing happened, and I suppose that nothing did happen. I even got to eat my favorite cafeteria chicken Caesar wrap.