A perfect day.
I awakened with a screeching ear ache, possibly caused because of a tooth problem caused by the lockdown. Dentists are considered non-essential and so the pain just grows. But I took some super ear drops, went back tgo sleep, woke up, ate a lot of Activia peach yoghurt and lay in bed thinking.
Mostly I think about when I was young. I remember especially girlfriends from when I was young and they were young. I wish I could write a book about girlfriends from decades past and maybe I can some day.
Outside, we were having our first sunny, warm day in months. Beverly Hills finally had springtime. Our gardens were blooming and the trees had flowers of blue and yellow and orange growing out of them.
The spring air blew in my French doors next to my bed and I drifted back to sleep. I had terrible nightmares of homelessness, though, so I woke up.
I went downstairs to the pool. I lay down in my striped blue and white cotton pajamas and light brown slippers with my pink terry cloth robe and my George W. Bush campaign hat, orange with a green “W”, under a woolen red plaid checked light lounging blanket.
The sun fell right on my face and I covered my eyes with my shades. Above and over me, a lambent mild breeze wafted over me and stirred the immense green fronds of my tall palm trees.
They made a soothing rustling sound.
I was awakened repeatedly by the roar of the neighborhood middle eastern heirs in their Ferraris and Lamborghinis and McLarens but eventually they changed hoods and the only human sound I heard was small children walking by with their parents on the state approved “...take a breath of fresh air...” exemption to the lock down. The children were speaking what I think is Farsi.
Later in the afternoon, the breeze turned cool so I gathered up my blanket, my Diet Coke, and my “W” hat and went upstairs to my bedroom. My wife was lying there reading.
We had a small dispute about selling our house in Malibu. She hates it because it reminds her of competitors. I love looking at the ocean. We have to sell it. It’s just a question of when. When I die is my choice.
I played some gospel hymns over my phone for my wife, who remembers her grandmother singing them in her kitchen in a small town in southeastern Oklahoma. Idabel.
“The Old Rugged Cross.” “In The Garden.” “How Great Thou Art.”
My wife started to cry and held my hand. We’ve been married a long, long time.
I usually cook for us but tonight we ordered in. Japanese food. My wife’s nurse gave the delivery man ten bucks and he said he would only take twenty because, “...that’s what Mr Stein always gives me.”
I told her to give him twenty but he said he would only take it from me. I went downstairs and gave him a twenty and wished him a blessed Easter. He walked away jauntily.
I read many articles about COVID. One especially terrifying one by Myron Magnet, a good writer, and one equally terrifying one about Bernie by Kimberly Strassel, a damned good writer for The Wall Street Journal. If his side wins (which, God forbid! ) it’s curtains for all of us and for Israel. He’s a real danger.
But look at the little picture: A plague of virus and political insanity is raging. But I get to lie behind my tall stucco walls in the sunshine on a deep green chaise and look at the pale blue waters of my pool and smell the jasmine and then eat sushi for now. “One day at a time” is the only way to go right now
“One day at a time” is the only way to go right now — at 75.
Ben Stein is a writer, an actor, and a lawyer who served as a speechwriter in the Nixon administration as the Watergate scandal unfolded. He began his unlikely road to stardom when director John Hughes as the numbingly dull economics teacher in the urban comedy, "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." Read more more reports from Ben Stein — Click Here Now.
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