Another Week: Number 130

Last week, I wore a barn jacket to water my plants in the wind and cold. This week, I’m sealed in my air-conditioned house, hiding out from a three-day heat wave and the 70-degree dew point. My attitude is pivoting toward “Screw it — let’s skip summer altogether and jump right to college football and fall colors.”

However, I did surprise myself on Thursday with a spontaneous pruning operation. One minute, the notion of pruning was crossing my mind; the next, I was on my ladder with my Fiskars Tree Pruner, lopping branches off the mulberry tree growing over the neighbor’s fence. I felt like a marionette with someone else pulling the strings.

It was this sort of irresistible pruning impulse that made me nickname Amy “Prune Juice.” But where she inevitably left a sprawling tangle of amputated branches on the lawn, I also broke the limbs down to a neat pile behind the garage before the sun was able to fry me too much. Now, I just have to chauffeur the sticks over to Pearl Street someday.

Most of the huge mulberry tree remains — and the birds are already eyeing its white berries. Once the fruit ripens, I expect aerial battles between robins and cedar waxwings like we enjoyed with the previous mulberry tree.

Whenever I’m out in the yard, my robin friend continues to follow me everywhere. I suspect some sort of behavioral assessment is being conducted on me — but many days, it’s my only companionship.

Meanwhile, the queasiness continues.

There are minor distastes: The WNBA is starting to resemble roller derby — and Washington Mystics guard Lucy Olsen is being ridiculously underused.

And then there’s the overarching revulsion: Benjamin Netanyahu spent this week dancing Donald Trump into war with Iran. He took Trump into his hands, showed him the steps, whispered sweet flattery in Trump’s ear, and led him out onto the floor.

Shortly after noon on Saturday, I saw a notification on my phone that our undetectable B-2 bombers had taken off from Missouri. Later that evening, speaking from the East Room after the bombing mission, Donald Trump gave his co-star, Yahweh, a shoutout: “And in particular, God, I want to just say, we love you God, and we love our great military.”

When not retching, I walked 2.45 miles this week.

Mike Birbiglia: The Good Life

I have been a Mike Birbiglia fan for years and have watched a number of his comedy specials. Gradually, they’ve evolved away from typical comedy routines into something more like existential essays with humor.

In his latest — The Good Life, currently streaming on Netflix — Birbiglia reflects on his roles as a son to an impassive father who has now suffered a stroke, as a father to a daughter who has many questions, and as a husband to an introvert.

Finding a comedy special to watch with my mom is no easy task. She doesn’t care for vulgarity, and pop culture references don’t always ring a bell.

She liked this one, though. Afterward, she told me that Birbiglia “seems like a gentle man.”

I can’t put it better than that.

No Country For Old Men (2007)

I have seen this movie before — but my mom has not, so I showed it to her Saturday night.

Sixteen years ago, I was astounded by Javier Bardem‘s villain and his ruthless pursuit. That’s all still here, and the suspense and fear were working on my mom.

Revisiting the film as an older man, though, I related more to the alienation of Tommy Lee Jones‘s sheriff and the movie’s title.

I’m reminded of that Jackson Browne line, “Across my home has grown the shadow / Of a cruel and senseless hand.”

This movie also reminded me that I’m now 13 years older than my dad was when he died.