The Functioning Chocoholic

Whatever gets you through the night: a book, a gummy, a big chocolate bunny.

Dear gawd, this season’s sweet smells … the jellybeans and the jasmine … plus what Updike calls “the blessed slenderness” of spring.

In April, you can either count your blessings or you can curse your tax returns. Both work. Both are real and forgivable.

In either case, we motor right along, our stomachs knotting over some deep eternal fear, something we can’t shake or conquer.

We keep motoring just the same.

Which brings us to today. Easter shimmers on the horizon. Summer awaits the next train.

My mornings start kind of sooty now, black as Bibles. The little lamp near the bed glows like a lighthouse, calling me back under the covers after I feed the dog. I resist, I relent, I resist, I relent … storyboard of my young life.

Honestly, I’m a tug-of-war. You too? All these comforts call out to us.

I was noticing all the vape shops on Lincoln Boulevard the other night, on my way to see Miss Suzie. The smoke shops sizzled in their LED high-beams. They looked like space ships. You could almost hear them hum.

These weed shops are an urban occurrence now, a trend, a blight, lit up like major airports.

My questions: Do you stoners need extra light? And what’s to become of The Great American Liquor Store?

There was an ambience and a dignity to an old liquor store — especially late, when it was just you and the cops and the clerk behind the counter reading the latest Playboy. Liquor stores felt like small favors.

As teenagers, we’d wait outside liquor stores for someone to buy us six-packs of beer in brown paper bags. We’d try to pick a younger customer, someone in his 20s, because the older dudes could be scolds.

Hey, whatever gets you through the night, right? A book, a gummy, a big chocolate bunny … perhaps a sip of Bud Light.

I was swimming the other day, another med, another tonic …an activity that manages to unknot me.

As I left the gym, this Easter Bunny of a girl, jaunty in the way of teenagers, parades past, flaunting her cheesecake glow.

Judging from her looping walk, she might’ve been a baroness, or the heir to a major toy company. Whatever she was, she seemed to have the world’s car keys in her hand.

What awaits a kid like this? What awaits all our sassy kids and grandkids? What awaits this cruel and wobbly world?

Can we fall asleep each night with hope in our hearts? Or is it dread we always seem to feel?

I say spring forward, no matter your spiritual side. Chase some guiding star, some beacon, some hope. Go ahead, eat that Peep. Cave to the candy.

Because to be a parent is to worry two generations ahead. Parenthood spikes the punch. It raises our sense of responsibility (and sometimes shame).

For believers, this is the wildest week — when God took back his baby.

For non-believers, please note that I’ve gotten almost all the way through an Easter column without using the words “rebirth” or “resurrection.” Lord, it wasn’t easy.

Meanwhile…

“Any time not spent on love is wasted,” said an old Italian writer you maybe don’t even know (Torquato Tasso). If old Italians understand anything, it’s probably lust.

Now, you can probably define a person solely by the things they lust over. Work? Fame? Family? Boats? Bix Beiderbecke? The B-52s?

Tell me all that you love and I’ll tell you whether I like you or not.

And if you love April, I’ll probably love you too. There is something explicit about a bed of daffodils in the morning sun … a big bowl of Monet.

And a gushing creek just seems to wind my clock.

A frisky dog splashing through that hilly creek adds to the moment. There is no happiness quite like dog happiness, or the happiness of young children on a warm spring weekend, chasing after colored eggs in the park, stumbling through the lush spring grass, shirts and smiles coming untucked.

Who doesn’t like that?

For every bad thing, there are two good ones. That’s just the ratio I’ve always used — nothing scientific, more of a hunch than a fact, that’s for sure.

Science has its limitations, we all know that.

For this moment, forget moon launches and biotech. Give me dogs and children and other classic beacons — the stuff no one can ever take away.

Give us our blessed April hearts.

Happy Easter.

Next week: These kids’ shimmering eyes. You could canoe in those eyes.

Some thanks on this holiday weekend:

Thanks to all of you have been reading me for years, some for decades. Thanks for following me now on Substack.

Also, thanks to all those who supported the Erskine Family Compassion Fund, honoring my late wife and son. You pulled together nearly $15,000 to help families across Los Angeles. Still like to help? Please make out checks to LCPC Parent Ed, and send to LCPC Parent Ed, 626 Foothill Boulevard, La Canada, CA 91011. Or click here: LCPCparented.org/give/

If you have problems on the donation site, or with Substack, please email me at Letters@ChrisErskineLA.com

Finally, a poll: What would make you happiest for our next hike? Descanso Gardens? Santa Monica Pier? Dodger Stadium? If you have a preference, please email me at Letters@ChrisErskineLA.com

Happy Easter, and all holidays, from our home to yours.