There is always some amusing situation when I go to see my mother at Haro Park Center.
I know. They are now called Campus of Care Facilities, but it seem to me that title tries too hard.
Easter weekend, 2021 meant we could finally give our mother, Trudy, a
hug for the first time in l3 months. As a professional writer, sometimes
events are so emotional it can’t quite be verbalized. But this story I wrote
about Trudy from over a year ago, at least tells me she hasn’t changed one
iota. She’s still firecracker full of life at 90-years old: she’s survived
Covid-19 and has happily smoked for 75 straight years.
Imagine connecting to another soul whose relationship to her own husband refracted the light. The searing single violin from Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade Suite — a magic music box, once in my hand almost thirty years ago, in another’s - hearing the same, sweet sound.
I stared at the Skype screen in frustration. My mother needed my arms around her to be consoled and I was not there.
January 13, 2021 A favorite memory at 65 is my father and his older sister who were in their sixties when I remember them together most. They really loved each other, being with the other. I can’t say/won’t say Auntie Wan was like my dad’s second wife, but she and my dad Eddie – known as Tap – had an intimacy that my mother never had with her husband. The connection, the communication, the kindness they shared at the kitchen table late into night – past the pedaheh and holopches she would prepare for a Sunday dinner when we travelled […]
December 9, 2020 I’ve come to love my mother more and deeper since this second lockdown with Covid-19 over the last eight months. Yes, absence makes the heart grow fonder – but/ and – out of sight, out of mind, no? We haven’t had the closest relationship since before I was born – if you get my drift – so the landscape of our relationship has been dotted with many boulders of …well…let’s just say, I love my mom more as time passes. However, Skype. Zoom, and Whatever’s Next are not not satisfying tools for intimate communication, following as they […]
“Fly fish tackle box”, he said, mesmerized by the same glittering light dance I was. I just looked at them -in their little cribs, one in one at a time. An array of dancing strings of color. For fishing?
“Men are better at this than women aren’t they?”
Yes,” said Raj.
Ya gotta love the l960s. I Love Lucy after school. Basketball practice after supper. Gangs of 13-year old girls picking up one and then the other girlfriend and then the third or fourth to roam the airforce base of eight streets (we thought it was gargantuan)
with maybe seventy-five PMQs (we thought the Primary Married Quarters were a town).
To me the cosmological sense is that life, love, nature and reality all have second chances, with this meeting once a month, face to face in the same place when the Sun and the Moon meet.