The Captain texted me Reinhold Niehbuhr's [FN1] serenity prayer this afternoon. This after I told him 1) it is possible, after all, to have road rage on the T, 2) BC's main campus was crawling with tourists, and 3) lots of F-bombs sprinkled throughout. The Captain's point is well-taken now, nine hours after the fact, but at the time I was in a sweaty frenzy. Waiting thirty-six minutes for the T in 90F weather will do that to a person.
But the truth is, the Captain is just naturally more serene than I ever will be. (Or maybe I need to go "defend our country's freedoms" in 140F heat like he did.) I have been counting only since yesterday, but so far I have called him while very upset everyday this week. Superstar he is, he has taken everything in stride. He is a very good sport. He's even anticipated future meltdowns by taking the tried-and-true route of procuring me sweets. Holding aside the threat of an expanded midsection, I cherish his care and aspire to his equanimity.
Big hugs.
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FN1. Yes, yes, I know the authorship is recently in dispute. I read The New York Times just like you.
UPDATE: The whoopie pies arrived today. If you look closely, that's a dozen delicious pies. Plus a card that says, "Happy PMBR!" I chuckle to myself when I imagine what the Whoopie people must have thought when writing that card. Probably thought it was some cute inside joke. Would that it were.
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