Conversations With the Ice Bucket

I had to go WLH yesterday (Without Lunch Hour) at the EBDJ (Evil Boring Day Job) because I had to attend the only thing worse than an excruciating birthday lunch complete with cake featuring horrible whipped cream icing (EBLCWCFHWCI)-- it was an all-company luncheon.

These things largely consist of droopy sandwiches, flat Cokes, and a too-small conference room in which we are told 1) what a great company we are and 2) the many ways in which we, those of us who comprise the company, suck. It isn't technically compulsory, of course, but when the all-send email hits the inboxes with the closing tag, "The President looks forward to seeing all of you there"... yeah, you'd pretty much better put in an appearance. I walked down slowly as I always do so as to cut down on the whole awful corporate mingling thing (Writers & Engineers just don't mix, children) and by the time I got there the chairs were gone and the only place to stand was in the hallway outside the conference room.

This was good. The food was in the hallway, as was the ice bucket, which frankly has more personality than most of the people around here, and I was able to brace myself up against the wall and feel free to facially express my boredom well out of sight of The Man. I couldn't hear everything that went on in there, only fragments, so the whole hour and a half sounded like this: "Blah blah blah blah with regard to profit sharing, blah project management goals, blah de blah creates a synergy (yes, somebody ACTUALLY SAID "synergy" in a non-ironic manner) blah blah we are the world." Which was fine, as I'm quite sure that's how the whole thing would have sounded were I in full earshot anyway.

It gave me time to reflect, always a bad thing when you are me, because reflection at this point in my life pretty much leads immediately to: "What am I doing here?"

Well, yes, The Reason. I'm always looking for The Reason. When you are Catholic and you are depressed, you wrap your legs and arms around the belief that there is A Reason or you will absolutely lose it.

This got me to thinking, of course, about death. Not my own, mind you, but President Reagan's. We are a month away from this now, four weeks out from the massive silent crowds and Nancy clutching a triangle of flag as she weakly rested her cheek against her husband's coffin. My sorrow over the President's passing was tempered with gratitude that he is at last released and his family is now cleansed of the burden of watching this great man wither and fade away. I felt myself as a little girl, staring at a black and white television image of a blown-apart space shuttle: What was the meaning of this?

I think I know. I think he chose his time. I think God wanted this nation to gather and reflect on the good things he did and the good things he represented-- and He wanted us to do it at this particular moment, when we might come together in the celebration of a life rather than in shock and horror, united by terrible violence. And I think that God, while arranging this, was careful to spare the President the deep pain of 9/11. The Alzheimer’s, for all its creeping awfulness, at least kept Ronald Reagan blessedly unaware of the brutal attack on the nation he loved so much.

Yes, he chose his time. It was his final gift to the American people. Ronald Reagan, to the end, knew what he was doing here.

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