“My mind’s a blank…”

It’s almost 2 am. I’ve started and scrapped three posts. My mind’s a blank. I yearn for brilliance…I yearn for bed.

I had dinner with my father at The Bull’s Head Inn. We sat in the Gazebo, delighted by “daylight savings” evening light; surrounded by patches of snow and hints of spring. His mind was fluid…rangy…lumbering. Time frames colliding and collapsing. He thinks we’re in Fearrington Village...he thinks we’re in Garden City…he thinks we’re in his home…he thinks we’re in a restaurant where he conducts interviews.

Before leaving his room at the nursing home, I notice that there is a message on his answering maching. I press PLAY. It’s Bob. His voice is distant, slow, deliberate. “Ken, I wanted you to know that the Bradford pear trees you planted are blooming–they’re in full bloom…so are the cherry trees and the crab apples.”

Spring is full-blown in Fearrington, NC where we planted six beautiful Bradford pears in memory of my mother 16 years ago. They’re tall and full now–so symmetrical. Dad is befuddled–not sure what Bob is talking about. I explain, “Dad, you remember…the trees we planted by The Gathering Place where we had Mom’s memorial service…” I see a glimmer of recognition.

He orders steamers and lamb chops for dinner. He is happy and as always, it’s the best meal he’s ever eaten. I savor his enthusiasm for small pleasures. He remembers to ask about my daughters, Sara and Grace. “Now when is Gracie’s wedding?” he wonders. I tell him that Sara got married last fall and that I don’t know whether Grace is quite ready yet. I remind him that she wants him to walk her down the aisle. “Oh,” he says, “I’ll have to get some roller skates for that, or a sidecar for my scooter.”

Grace & Grampie

ANTIMATTER

On the other side of a mirror there’s an inverse world,
where the insane go sane; where bones climb out of the
earth and recede to the first slime of love.

And in the evening the sun is just rising.

Lovers cry because they are a day younger, and soon
childhood robs them of their pleasure.

In such a world there is much sadness which, of course,
is joy.

– RUSSELL EDSON –

Advertisements