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

 

December 29, Dorothy's birthday.

    As usual, I went to bed as late as possible, hoping to be able to fall asleep. I finally did, or so I thought, but was awakened by that familiar staccato rapping sound, measured, metallic-sounding almost. But this time instead of the usual sequence of 3, the raps continued and louder.  I didn't think it was a bird now that it was winter time, so started to worry.  Dorothy appeared and offered to go outside to check to see what the noise might be. I told her that David had installed a new sensory light, so the area should be  visible when she walked outside. I noticed as she walked out the front door that she had her pocketbook, two-toned brown with a short strap, slung snugly over her shoulder. So I thought she was not coming back. She stepped out the door, but said she could not see around the corner and felt too uneasy to go  over there. That was it. 

  Later, I got up and looked out the front window, thinking I might see if any tire tracks were visible in the snow, but the snow had melted, so I saw nothing.  

Hearsay

 

That Christmas Eve eve

   Dorothy was leaving that evening, December 23, 2003. She often stayed over, but she had to be home that night. I wasn't feeling well, but she told me I'd be okay.  I'd been sitting in the chair by the door and at  about 11 o'clock, I got up to go to bed. Dave had already retired for the night. When I got to the hallway, I just sank to the floor. I felt sick and couldn't move. Dave was near panic, but he called M. who then lived just down the road. . She arrived in short order, and decided we should go to the Emergency Room. We went to Saratoga Hospital because I had just finished the last of the chemo and radiation  treatments a few weeks before, and thought there might be some carryover  with the oncologist. There wasn't though; when you're finished, you're done, except for the required checkups.

   We got to Saratoga late that night. The emergency room was in an uproar dealing with a woman who was tripping out on something, so there was a delay. Dave had thoughtfully brought a blanket and pillow, thinking I would be lying down in the back of the vehicle enroute to the hospital, but I sat in the front seat. I would have felt worse lying down. So Dave made use of that equipment. He went out to the vehicle to take a nap. After all, he had already gone to bed that night. 

  When things settled down, the young nurse and M. also young then engaged in friendly conversation, each acknowledging they had not gotten the flu shot. The flu was rampant then but they felt young and invincible. The doctor, whose name was similar to Dr.  John Bonjovi,  came to the room and said I was positive for the flu, strain A. I would be admitted unless I chose to go home, which I did. It was almost Christmas!  He said I should avoid others, especially the young and when he found out how young my grandchildren were, one  2 years old and  the other only a few months, he said to have no contact with them. So I was housebound that Christmas. Dave was here, of course, but he went to whatever were the festivities. M. brought me an array of sickroom goodies. I remember enjoying the butterscotch candies which I hadn't known came in rolls like Lifesavers.

   So I think of Barbara maybe being alone this Christmas, or maybe not. Who knows.  

  I watched most of Homeward Bound this evening. Probably the best of television broadcasts this year at least. Just when I thought artistry and decorum were non-existent, I realize I  was wrong and felt humbled by the performances. I have long thought Sound of Silence may be the best song ever written, but his other works are equal. So off to Graceland we go.

So lock me up...

    Today I was waiting in the checkout line on the upper level of Boscov's when a minor disturbance occurred.  A young, probably teenaged, girl was running at top speed from the right side of the store to the left, and ducking out of sight among the clothing display racks. The clerk and other customers momentarily paused their transactions  and looked, but nobody said anything, no reason to really.  At about the same time a man, inelegantly dressed, strode across from the left to the right side of the room. As he passed, he said hello to me. I didn't recognize him, but I had the thought he  resembled the missing man from the accident.