Literally crying in the Target parking lot right now. 🧵
I was struggling with unloading my toddler, my bags and wrangling an unruly cart (seriously — why do some lack power-steering?) A fire truck from Redondo Beach (E61) had just parked nearby and four firefighters got out.
Old Fox's Advent Calendar. The Twenty-second Window. There seemed to be teas and parties and soirées and carol concerts every night in the village in the week before Christmas. That Sunday afternoon, it was the turn of the Vicarage. The Reverend Lion stood at the polished black door, framed in damp festoons of new-cut greenery, welcoming every guest, large or small, rich or poor, shy or gregarious, High Church or Low, with great charm and gusto and consideration.
An enormous tea had been laid out in the drawing room by the Christmas tree. There was a battalion of warm mince pies and white-iced fairy cakes decorated with little silver balls, neat rows of celery stuffed with rich cream cheese, great rounds of Blue Vinny and Rammel, warm rolls with curls of salty butter, platters of gougères and devilled egg sandwiches, coconut cake and Portland cake and Gâteau magique. To drink, there were three elaborate silver bowls of ecclesiastical punch (always a little joke between the Bishop of Dorchester & the Vicar): one an Oxford Bishop with port & lemon & cloves, one a Smoking Beadle with dragony ginger wine and plump raisins, and the third, a Smoking Cardinal made with a generous amount of champagne, which had rather a throng about it. Afterwards, Old Fox and the Reverend went into his study and spoke a little of the party and of the liturgical responsibilities of the days to come. Then suddenly, the Reverend turned to Old Fox and said, in very great earnest, "Did we remember everyone tonight, Old Fox, the whole flock, I mean, I do worry about the lonely at this time." "None left," said Old Fox, putting another log on the fire,"none left behind."
Old Fox's Advent Calendar. The Twenty-first Window. Midwinter morning & Old Fox had vanished into the freezing fog, gone to the high furzed hills, where the hawks circle and call, gone to see the King all of Gold, gone to the stony place where few can follow and return, enfolded by downs and dales, by old barrow magic, until the first light came, pale burnished along the star-scattered welkin way, pale and reaching in the east. How is the world, asks Old Fox. In shivers, answers the King, in shivers.
Let me tell a story. Went to COSTCO today, very crowded and got in and out quickly, why? Because COSTCO hires humans to work. When I left COSTCO car did not start. Called AAA, where I’ve been a customer for 25 years. Could not get a human and their AP didn’t work. (1)
Never have I felt so vindicated, or so shitty about being vindicated, as I do whenever I recall being loudly booed at an SF convention ten years ago for saying “Elon Musk is not Tony Stark, he’s not your friend, & he’s not out to save anyone or anything.”