Time to Reconnect

Do you remember Tom?

Your eyes are the first to understand. They open wide, drawn to a presence.

His cheeks not pale. Bright red, like the way they were that winter day. Electric day.

The day the snow fell in April.

And you met.

He came with a shovel.

Cleared your sidewalk.

You had cookies and hot chocolate together.

The steam rose wet in the frigid air.

Before he was your husband, walking boot deep in fluffy snow.

Tom. Laughing at unexpected falling flakes. Catching them in his mouth.

Living life to the end.

The last word goes to Tom.

I Saw Strength and Sorrow in My Grandmother’s Art.

I try to imagine my grandmother’s life. When I met her in 1970, she was living outside of Jackson, Michigan. My father hadn’t seen her since he was five. I have one picture of her sitting between my parents, with my sister, under a watercolor of bare-masted boats and impressionist water. I thought she’d painted it. She showed us hers, smaller, unframed.

Calm, I can’t imagine that her life started that way. She bore twenty children; spent years in a mental hospital. Beginning in 1933, she lost her children; her world changed. I try to imagine, but it’s really hard.

He’s Got to Pull His Weight

I was excited when this half-grown border collie came up the driveway, then I got worried. I told Pa, “Could be a working dog. They herd sheep.”

“We ain’t got no sheep.”

“Cows, maybe?”

“Don’t need no dog. Give him to John, he’s got sheep.”

I’ve been asking for a dog since forever. “Might scare…”

The dog sticks his nose in the air. Something’s rustling in the corn and out comes a big ol’ raccoon. The dog’s carrying on to beat the band and, miracle of miracles, chases that raccoon clean away.

“Reckon he’ll do.”

High praise from my dad.

Friendship

I remember the motorcycle he rode.

I remember sneaking off with him when he was sixteen. I was fourteen, full of elaborate excuses; girlfriends who vouched for me. Wind in my face, the noise, the leather jacket and the helmet. I saved up, hid them at his house.

I remember when he told me he was gay.

I remember how cool I played it. “I wondered,” I said. I thought, what were the chances he was wrong?

I remember every unworthy person he dated. I’d ask him, “Are you sure? What do you see?”

He’d say, “You’re my best friend.”

Irresistible Impulse

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He said- You said, Yes.

She said- I said, not yet. Another time. A later time.

He said- But your eyes said yes

She said- My eyes don’t speak for me.

He said- Your eyes speak to me.

She said- Looks can deceive.

He said- So you admit it? You lied. Those gorgeous blue eyes lied?

She said- You should have known. You should have asked, clarified, not taken things at face value.

He said- Whatever. Now we have this adorable cat.

She said- This purring cat, we’re cat parents now.

He said- I’m a sucker for gorgeous blue eyes.

Clancy Hits It Home

Clancy struck out for the third time. He was distraught. The love of his life had left with the ballboy that morning. He hadn’t seen it coming. Like that ball he’d missed by just a hair.

“A hair,” his coach said. “More like a country mile. Go get your eyes examined.”

Clancy made an appointment. The optometrist told him that with his vision it was a miracle he’d ever hit a ball. She also made the observation that his girlfriend needed glasses. And she said yes when he asked her out for dinner. He only hit home runs after that.

A Tree Shining on the Hill

“This tree will be removed due to oak root fungus. Direct comments to…” Unprepared, for the posted notice, her heart stopped.

After Dave passed on, she’d sat under the canopy of the live oak, its small stiff leaves immune to drought. Their tree, his, hers. She watched chickadees play. So much time had elapsed since they first met on that hill.

The tree stayed the same. It had reached maturity, or maybe it was so large that a few inches of growth didn’t register. Timeless, it had seemed destined to watch over the bay for all eternity. Nothing lasts forever.

Raven Prince

Once there was a wicked prince, so wicked he stank. No maiden would have him.

He mounted his horse and set out to find a wife.

On the road, a raven flew above his head. He threw rocks and when they hit the bird, the prince felt pain. He felt the same pain on seeing a crowd of beggars. A parched child moved him to give her water.

It was a cleansing experience. The raven spoke. “Follow me.”

The prince crossed the kingdom, sweating beside laborers, sweeping streets, felling trees. He smelled of productive work and lived a happy life.

Three AM Thoughts After Listening to a Zoom Featuring Robert Haas

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We met on the mountain at the halfway point between up and down. 
Hard-packed dirt bordered by scrappy shrubs 
and occasional candy wrappers, 
the path slid into loose gravel,
washboard erosion.
We braced, slowed, stopped. 
We stood face to face, more honest than when we fought,
voices raised in anger at slights so minor as to be unmemorable. 
We embraced, we wept, we sat on a boulder 
looked out on the sea, 
its azure blue, green, purple depths 
roiling, settling, welling up.
We wavered, pulled by the gravity of the moon and the earth.
We hovered between earth and sky.

What Goes With a Fedora?

The linen fedora sat jauntily on the Duchess’s head. “Who needs a tiara. On to the ball.”

Her gown took up most of the limo’s back seat, leaving the Duke with scant room to spread his tails. “I can’t very well wear a top hat with you in that get-up.” He sniffed loudly.

The Duchess handed him a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Then wear a bowler. Or maybe a feathered bonnet. Wear a tiara if you want.” She hugged up her husband.

The Duke said, “You need a trench coat to go with the hat.”

“Why does everything need to match, darling?”

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