Evan sleeps on until those neighbors, stirring in the predawn, wake him from a dream about driving through Arizona. About driving through moving water. Never a good idea but somehow he and Mina had done it anyway. And might do it again if the need arose. In fact, felt like they and many others were doing that now. Awake he props himself up against a short stack of pillows, makes a mental note that he will wash the bedding tomorrow, picks up the iPad, swipes the notification to the right, enters his password, and making a sign of the cross on his lips begins the Office of Readings. When he’s done he looks out in the dark beyond the foot of the bed.
- Alexa. Turn on the morning lights.
Evan has decided that it is time to trim his beard and shave his neck. He lines the bathroom sink with a paper towel, buzzes his beard, removes the short guide comb on the electric razor and buzzes his neck being careful to achieve a clear edge between his neck and beard. He pauses.
- Alexa. Play my Perry Como station.
Moving into the kitchen because the bathroom sink drain is sluggish he heats a face cloth which he wraps on his neck. Taking a tiny dab of shaving cream from the travel size dispenser which will probably last him a year he removes the face cloth and lathers his neck. Back in the bathroom he shaves, scowling at the beat face in the mirror. Jesus. Mercy. Miserable.
- Alexa. Louder.
There is only one egg in the refrigerator. Evan cracks that last egg against the stainless-steel frying pan on the stove top but has decided to fry it in his flat square Teflon skillet. The egg is hesitant to leave the shell and once free slides to the edge of the pan. Evan coaxes it back to the center of the skillet. Breakfast consists of the over easy egg, half of a small vanilla yogurt, a banana, a slice of toast with butter and honey, a vitamin D pill, and blood pressure medicine all washed down with grape juice cut with cold water.
- Alexa. How tall is Billy Bob Thornton?
- Billy Bob Thornton’s height is 5 feet and 10 inches.
Evan is not sure that he believes this. He pulls the laundry basket out of his bedroom closet and separates the darks. Sure, he could spot clean the jelly that dropped off his toast onto the leg of his jeans the other day but he’s not that concerned about weakening the fabric or shifting that perfect shade of blue. And he carefully reverses the socks so that the dead skin that flakes from his feet isn’t trapped inside during the washing. Once the clothes are in the machine he shuts down Perry Como on the Echo and sits down with the iPad for Morning Prayer. Currently he prefers using Universalis, but he will use the Divine Office app when he is walking and occasionally the Book of Common Prayer Divine Office pub on his kindle.
After prayer Evan posts food pantry pictures to the pantry web site, makes his Medicare B payment online, and briefly considers the money management material on his bank’s web site, Mina calls. The rooster woke her again at 4 o’clock. Her back is bothering her. She has her coffee and meds ready to take. They talk. About the election. About pain. Then Mina and Evan almost simultaneously say.
- Bye for now.
- Bye for now.
To Evan it seems like a good time for his morning walk. 3 miles to the beach and back. There’s Bleak House to listen to. There’s that hedge near the beach that’s changing color. And there was morning, another day.
