Analyze This

 

Relating to Jeremy Renner

 The first car I owned was a '57 Chevy, and it was a good car, but it developed a habit of stopping without notice. I was used to it and would just pop the hood, make some adjustment to the carburetor or fuel pump ( I forget which),  and the engine would kick in.   On the way home from Troy one fine day, the car stopped on a slight hill on Route 40.  So I popped the hood and performed the usual magic to get it running. However, when the engine started, the car started to run back down the hill. I ran after it and opened the door, but must have grabbed the steering wheel and the car swung right across the road and into a nearby field. Luckily, I was young and able to get out of its path, so I didn't break 30 bones like poor Jeremy. 

The Strife of Life

 Well, the major malfunction was the furnace, which caused 3 days of dank misery. But minor niggling malfunctions arose within a month's time. The battery in the Honda key fob died, so the car door had to be unlocked manually. O, the Horror. Solution from Boston area resolved it.  The door to the Krups toaster oven snapped at the juncture, but it works fine, propped by wooden ice cream spoons. The cover of the outside electrical outlet broke off, one too many celebratory Christmas lightings. The vintage General Electric wall clock in the kitchen moaned and then lost time. And most startling, the lever on the sink spray spigot broke off in use. Once that stream starts, there is no stopping it. Lastly, so far, yesterday the computer slot will not accept the camera's SanDisc. But the printer will. So far anyway...

Memories: What are they good for anyway.

    I was little and looking up at my mother's face as we stood in the pew  in church. Her expression was serious and serene, and different from when she was at  home with us and in her own surroundings. I studied her face and I knew I did not know what she was thinking, what was in her mind. I realized too that I would never know, even if I asked, which I would never do. It came to me even at that young age that we never know what other people are thinking.  

   Later on, I would ask, but the answer still never came. Dave and I would be traveling a long distance by car, just the two of us, to Canada maybe or to Cape Cod or some place. The radio would be out of range, so there was quiet  for much of the way. My mind would have covered dozens of thoughts, maybe even more, past, present, future.  I'd look over at Dave driving in silence and ask what he was thinking about. His answer was always the same. "Nothing, I'm not thinking of anything." 

  About this time of year, a vivid memory  comes into my mind so sharply that it seems almost like the present time. Dorothy and Sandy and I are walking home from church, maybe Midnight Mass, at the time before the pastors were so elderly and overworked that the service actually was at midnight. It had snowed;  the sidewalks were as yet unplowed, so we are walking three abreast in the middle of the road. We are all talking, not loudly but the air is so clear our voices are echoing. It is wintry and cold but we are wearing winter coats and boots that crunch in the snow so we are not really aware of the weather. We are talking about nothing significant, just heading home to our houses. Main Street then led straight to the entrance and roadway of the  bridge. The light  seemed to beckon us onward, over the bridge to who knows where. Or so it seemed to me, though of course in words unspoken. As we got closer to where we would turn off to our houses, I felt a pang. I didn't want the night to end, I just  wished we could keep walking to wherever it led. 

   I think it is true that we never  know what other people, no matter how close we are to them, are really thinking. Any more than we reveal our true thoughts to them.  Or so it seems.

Last Reunion