Back at it on February 24. Tuesday, the day after the snow day. Treacherous walk to the PATH train this morning. Most buildings had shovelled sidewalks, some had shovelled but iced over sidewalks I was in my wellies that Bill had bought for me after super storm Sandy in 2012. They definitely come in handy when walking through snow drifts. Walking through snow drifts is generally safer than treading on ice. Involuntary twisting and turning causes distress.

So I am back at the fruit stand. Marcus and I just had an in depth chat about dating and sexuality. It was fun. I found myself in the role of a therapist, and Marcus was the patient spilling his guts (up to a point). Marcus is funny. Sometimes he’s close-lipped with not much to say at all, then there are times like today, where he is quite verbose.

I started writing this on the phone and never got back to it after 11:30 AM. Now I am home at 7:30 PM typing. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows 2 is on the television. Bill is on his way back after picking up and dropping off some cadets from there to somewhere else. It’s still winter, and it’s still cold out.

I spoke with my brother Brian earlier. I am going with him to attend our cousin Neil’s annual pizza party. Neil and his sisters were always close to me and mysiblings and now we have been shedding members; they lost 2, Ginger & Rosie, and we lost Francis. Lost isn’t the right word though, 3 dead siblings is harsh, but most truthful. It doesn’t have that Oscar Wilde ring to it: ‘To lose one parent seems unfortunate, but to lose two looks like carelessness.’ That’s from ‘The Importance of Being Ernest’

I first saw that in a broadcast in 1991 while living under my father’s roof and under his thumb. I mentioned that specific line to him back then, and he did not like it at all. He didn’t like me either. 4 and a half months living with him, despite the warnings of my brothers and sister, was a mistake, but it bought me time enough for Weehawken and Jane Street revealed themselves in October, and I was soon out of Lodi for the last time.

I have thought about moving back to that area, and we were offered a place to rent, but Bill was adamant on living out there, and I admit I had a rose colored memory feeding into a fantasy. It will be good to spend some time with Brian driving down to Bordentown. We rarely meet up these days, and time is running out for what is left of the two former residents of 13 Riverview Avenue.

What will we talk about? What music will we listen to? What questions does Brian have for me? It’s only going to be the two of us in the car, so right now on Tuesday night, I plan on being an open book. Saturday morning could be another story.

Saturday, February 21, on the train to Plauderville, which is a station in Garfield. I’m going solo since Mike was called back to his crib to meet his new parole officer. He wasn’t happy about it; he was looking forward to seeing Elaine again, but it’s a new parole officer, and she’s got to flex.

It’s been good having Mike around, and he might come back tonight but I have a feeling he won’t make it.

Bill is still south of the Mason-Dixon line, and he’s due back tomorrow, just in time for a major blizzard that has been forecast.

Lunch with Elaine, Meghan, and Shelby was pleasant. I had the usual diner fare, hamburger deluxe, and a chocolate shake. Then Elaine and I went to the house and sorted through some of Frank’s CDs to sell or donate somewhere. Elaine is overwhelmed by the number of CDs and magazines Frank had accumulated.

Getting to the train station was difficult. Garfield PD sent a text message telling residents to stay indoors. That was not an option as we were outside and planning on getting to the train. The station I bought a ticket for was unreachable, so we went to the next station.

A few minutes later, I boarded the train and was rolling towards Hoboken. As we left Secaucus, the train died. An Eastern European woman complained to the conductor that she had tickets to a show and she might miss it, and wanted money right then and there.

6 or 7 of us in the dead car had a good time laughing at her.

Now it is Monday, February 23, 2026. It’s a snow day. About 18 inches fell overnight. I was told via text that the fruit stands would be closed today, which was good to know. The commute tomorrow promises to be a mess.

Bill made it home safe and sound, which was nice. He came home yesterday and was soon in Manhattan for a class that he signed up for a few weeks ago. It was scheduled before the snowstorm, and since it had only started snowing at that time the class was to begin. It may have been a waste of time, but in for a penny, in for a pound.

It was hoped Mike could have come back yesterday, but he was held back once again by his new parole officer. It’s their game, and he has to play by their rules. It’s been touch and go with communication, phone, and text. I haven’t left the apartment since yesterday, when I went outside to help Bill with his luggage and climb the four flights of stairs.

Looking out the window, I see a lot of snow. It’s a different view once you’re on the street, obviously, and I won’t see that until tomorrow. I have this feeling of apprehension for some reason. The Sunday night dread before a school day. But there’s really nothing to dread. It’s a good job at the fruit stand. I think it’s the agency that placed me there that is causing this feeling.