Bob at the Plaza Read Online Free PDF Page B

weight of a winter’s snow and the ice on the lake, screeling and screeching as water currents underneath pushed against it. The lake sounded like a quartet of one-noted cellos, or a zoo populated with alien animals. Martian birds, maybe, yowling away. Occasionally I’d notice vibrant crimson pods weighing down the tips of a bush, or catch the red flash of a cardinal darting from branch to branch out of the corner of my eye. All the tiny hairs in my nose froze and became crisp, so I started breathing through my mouth as I paced.
    How about, I thought to myself, you stop whining and consider your blessings for a while, instead of your troubles? It might make a nice change. So I listed my blessings as I walked. Such a long list, thank God. Pop, Milly, Katie, Bill, Amy, Angela, her husband and children, David, Bob, my health, the fact that I actually had a tiny nest egg to worry about, Stan, chorus, a couple of decent bill-paying clients. My ability to walk. My ability to think. My abilities to see the snow-covered branches and to hear the otherworldly screeching of the ice.
    By the time I’d strolled for forty-five minutes, I’d reminded myself how I truly was one of the most-blessed people I knew, with love and well-wishes surrounding me, even though much of it might come from a distance. I wrapped up my pity-party for the day and walked home, cheered with positive energy and buoyed by remembrances of all the closets, bookshelves, kitchen cabinets, and cellars that needed cleaning and organizing, taxes requiring preparation, and new casserole recipes begging for a try. As long as I could stay busy and productive until my paying jobs picked up again, I’d be fine.
    Switching gears, making changes, always challenges me. I’ve often said that ‘Transitions are a bitch.’ So going from ‘billable hours’ busy to ‘household-organizing’ busy wouldn’t be easy, but once I made the revised commitment in my mind, I was usually fine.

Chapter 3
    The Inevitable: Cleaning . . . and Taxes
    Over the next few weeks my house became cleaner and cleaner while my freezer burst at the seams with future meals. In a rare whirlwind of energy, I emptied closets and lined and organized every drawer. I finally donated items to the Salvation Army that should have been given away months ago before being hauled to New York when I relocated. Really, where was my head when I planned that move? Panic must have discombobulated me so much that I packed up everything in my Nashville home, with no culling, no sorting. Some of the items I moved from Nashville weren’t even good enough to donate to the Salvation Army. Muffin tins black with years of baked-on accumulations of who-knows-what and barely usable roasting pans with scratched non-stick coatings. I couldn’t give them to Salvation Army because, as I mentioned to Katie, “There’s helping the poor, and then there’s insulting the poor,” and these items definitely fell into the latter category.
    Katie and I had fallen back into our old relationship. I’ve never been good at holding grudges, especially against the handful of people who genuinely love me, like my sisters. I know Katie plotted with Angela to get Bob out of my life, but I also know both Katie and Angela love me very much. They may not understand me or my perspectives or needs very well, but I truly believe they love me and, to me, that compensates for a multitude of sins.
    Loving or not, though, Katie and I butted heads during our next phone call. Katie telephoned to let me know Cousin Terri would be borrowing their lake house for Easter, taking Katie up on an invitation she’d unthinkingly extended last year. Cousin Terri set my teeth on edge but “at least,” I told Katie, “I’ll be in Manhattan for most of her visit so I won’t have to deal with her.” Famous last words.
    Then I mentioned I was trying to figure out how to get Bob back.
    “You have got to be kidding, Roz!” Katie sputtered.
    “No, I’m