We float together in a sort of amniotic soup. Not only are we not islands, we are all actually touching. I can taste your fear, and you have your elbow in my eye.
Three states back I knew a sailor who was anxious. He struggled with it as best he could. He had come up with something that worked for him, at least a little. He baked.
His wife would wake to an empty bed, and she would know that Brian had had a bad night. She would go down in her bathrobe and find six or eight professional quality, gloriously decorated cakes, each meant to feed 8 or 10 people.
This was right around 9-11, and the Iraq war. We all ate a lot of cake on our street.
There is a lot right now that feels miserable and worrisome. I cannot help or comfort my friends overseas. Borders seem pretty fungible when we are all in the soup. I worry that i will offend. I worry that i don't understand.
I may very well make a cake or two today. It won't be as good as Brian's cakes.(Really the Navy wasted his skills making him an RDC, he should have been moved to pasteries!) So no, not as good, but made with love and hope. I wish you could all come here to eat it.