The story of Bob Smith’s life was in the paper today, and while I never met him, I was absolutely captivated by the photo! He was an interesting character. And I think I could put his aunt in my purse.
Month: August 2006 (Page 3 of 3)
I have an uncommon knack for going to the grocery store ten minutes before the heavens open up and dump all their stowed-away contents onto the earth. Pretty much a rain dance for me, driving to the Price Chopper. Actually, I got gas first, and noted how windy it was getting. In the back of my mind, I thought, Heh. Maybe I should just go home. But no! I must bring something to knit night, and there’s no way I’ll get up in the morning to shop.
So I drove over to the store, and noted that all the tree tops were scolding me, shaking violently and waving, “Go home! You fool! Big storm’s a-comin’!” Instead, I chose to press on, and marvel at how the huge volume of dust in the air was blowing horizontally and if you squinted, it almost looked like rain. I got in the store, and I hoofed it. Only the utter necessities, at warp speed. It didn’t matter. By the time I pointed my cart back out the door, people were running in the parking lot, rain was pelting down, and it was hap-mad-dashery to LaFonda and then – oh lord, karma will get me – my cart blew away. Blew away! Ran right into the front corner of my car and was off like a race car, making a break for freedom. I’ve never seen a cart travel so fast without a push! And I had a choice. I could race after it, and become a fully drowned rat, or I could collapse into my car and watch, with an open mouth, as the wind pushed said car across the parking lot (there were no cars in its path) before I could even get the car started. So. Yeah. I didn’t get the cart. I apologize, and I simply hope that cart-retrieval tonight at the Chopper was delayed due to the weather and someone goes and gets it when it’s not quite so torrential.
I think everyone who got caught in this rain tonight could pretty much have cared less, because we all knew the line of storms was bringing with it a dramatic change in the weather – it’s already dropped 30 degrees from the high today! Now, I best get to bed, so I can get up and chop ‘maters, onion & squeeze some limes – I am doctoring up some purchased guacamole…. if I made it tonight, I’d have eaten it for dinner! :) Hmmm. Guacamole. It’s not just for breakfast anymore!
So, I never thought a dentist would make me swoon, and I never thought being viewed as young would be so startlingly appealing, but today? My dentist thought I was under the age of 30. Now, upon further reflection, I am wondering if he can see, or if he is perhaps going daft, but in the moment, it seemed like a really swell compliment. We were talking about my lower wisdom teeth, and he said, “Well, if you were 20, then there’d be no question, we’d take them out.” To which I replied, “Considering I’m nearly twice that, then, we won’t?” He turned and said, “Oh! Well. I didn’t realize you were over 30, no, we will just leave them where they are.” And I, the one who is firmly devoted to AGING GRACEFULLY and accepting myself and ignoring the Beauty Myth and Hollywood, that girl, I exclaimed, “OH MY Dr. Morgan, you certainly know the fastest way to my heart, hmm, thinking I’m under 30?!?” And that flustered him a bit, which was rather amusing, though I think we all know the notion of hitting on my nearly-60-year-old also-married dentist is about as absurd as me taking flight off of our rooftop with some Icarus wings in this heatwave; we then had a fairly one-sided conversation about how people’s ability to gauge age changes as you grow older. One-sided, because his hands were holding my mouth open and he was checking all my fillings.
The swooning, it was so fleeting.
That’s the title of a great John Prine album, the man can write songs that are breezy and fun, and he can write songs of great pain, real downers, songs that were slightly dangerous to me in my younger years before I figured out I was actually depressed.
Today I feel like a bruise, not fresh and purple, but yellow-orange and dispersed, still sore to the touch. Last night in the grief group, I shared pictures of my dad, and talked about him briefly while struggling to keep the tears from obliterating my power of speech. I went first, because I wanted to just do it, and not wait for my turn. It wasn’t easy for anyone to talk about their loved one – and I understand the importance of being able to do this, to keep them alive in a healthy way. But as I walked down the hallway towards the blazing asphalt and my car, my face screwed up and my shoulders shook as I lost, if only briefly, my battle with the sadness. I made sure I got some deep breaths & regained control before I got in my car.
I have a hard time allowing myself to remember anything about my dad right now, because at the same time the images comfort me, they pierce me, like a trumpet, the metallic sharpness cutting through with the reminder that he is gone, he is never coming back, we will never have new memories together, he isn’t going to call, he isn’t going to laugh with me, the credits have rolled and the movie has been played. I know that in time, these things will mellow, my memories will be easier to see and share again, I will not turn and avoid and pretend I do not have this bruise just to get through the day.