Vignettes of Irrationality, Pt. 1
I just realized today that the Tour de France is going on. A was a fan. He liked all the sports that weren’t football, basketball, baseball, and hockey. World Cup soccer, sailing races, Formula 1 racing, and biking through France. Last year, I was more aware of it, and I knew how disappointed he’d be in old Floyd Whatshisbucket for his chemical cheating. This year, I happened upon it by accident, and felt a momentary flash of that peculiar widow guilt of having forgotten what is truly forgettable, but made sacred beyond its own merits because of the connection to the loved one.
Like Peet’s Coffee. I don’t drink coffee, never have. E drinks coffee, though. Our local grocery store stopped carrying his preferred brand, so when he was looking for a new coffee to try, I mentioned that A liked Peet’s. We’d had some in the house when A visited, and E liked it all right, so for a long while after A died, he drank Peet’s because he liked it, and in memory of A, which I appreciated; I think he did it for me. When he decided again to make a change from Peet’s, I felt a little twinge at another loss, but that’s all it was. I can survive a twinge, and kind of laugh at myself that these things have become important to me when, if A were alive, I wouldn’t give it a second thought, and probably not even a first thought. Nixon becomes a hero in death, and coffee becomes sacrosanct. I know it’s totally unreasonable, but still, there it is.