A couple of months ago I came across this little article in the internet that appeared to be taken from the Washington Post but was not credited to anyone at all. And it was cut to the bone I´d say now that I´ve read Hank Stuever´s original piece “Scooch Over” in his book “Off Ramp – Adventures and Heartache in the American Elsewhere”. There´s something when Stuever writes:

Someday, when you spend more than $300 on patio furniture made of wood or wrought iron [.. ] you will know that you´ve left a certain part of your life behind: the salad days, the plastic chair days, when it was still possible to meet new lifelong friends, instead of just shaking hands with people and making small talk and getting by with nanoglimpses at the peekaboo flesh of someone else´s spouse. You owned plastic chairs when you were hungry about ideas and thought there was more to figure out about the world. [..] Before anyone expected you to hold a new baby, and back when you never asked to hold a baby. (There were no babies.) [..] The cheap chairs date back to when you were a nicer but possibly less refined person who didn´t require people to RSVP for your barbecue or brunch or whatever you´re calling it. People just came over and there were places to sit.”

Gets me thinking. Gets me not for I knew before. Of course I knew since this magazine titled an interview with me “Camping in one´s own life”. I knew since I told Ingo what I had done for the last 10 or so years, why I did it, had better not done several things, since I saw that being published and selling thousands of copies. I always knew. No, I knew nothing back then. I do now, I suppose. Still no babies.

There´s always a good reason. Most things make sense only the way they are even if they hurt. This is about pacification.