I now have become one of those stories, you don’t expect it, maybe you do, I did not after all these months, but things happen, life really does just happen sometimes, suddenly, you know this, you prepare for this, but steering a ship in the middle of a sudden tempest is the only way you understand this experience fully, a knot, a grinding stone in my bowels, waiting for the call, all life ends, but when you make that decision, I can not fully explain the feeling yet… I have often said, and it is very true, my life has been relatively free of tragedy and death, there is no rhyme or reason for this, no cruel hand, no benevolent marker, just the luck of the draw, incredible luck, as billions of years of the universe have led to this moment, or moments, sitting here, sitting still but still pacing, having a glass of bourbon to calm my nerves, heart still racing still, a not so routine hospital visit a few weeks ago that might have worked out fine, upended by the virus which has diverted the cart from the road to wellness, I have been anticipating my parent’s generation to start falling for some time, and some have here and there, and now my personal story becomes part of the fabric of this pandemic, I was never blasé about the virus, I always looked @ the numbers with logic, the vast majority of those infected survive but the vulnerable populations are just that, vulnerable, and even here as we embark on the gateway of a vaccine – it seems that much more cruel, but a virus has no eyes or a heart, I am lucky that I was able to make a last visit and let my father ‘face time good bye’ many close relatives, so, I know, many people did not have that chance, I am thankful for that, and now, I try to astral project myself into the hospital room now, as I sit here not sleeping, in my mind, I am sitting next to him, holding his hand and letting him know I am there, “dad, I’m here”, I see this so clearly, all the details of the room and the warmth of his hand, somehow hoping the universe will carry my message to his mind’s ear – somehow, is this prayer? I suppose, in my own way, so, now, we wait, for the inevitable full end, the one we signed off for just hours ago, waiting for the call, waiting for the call, late into this night, isolated from all those we love, leaving a loved one isolated to leave this world alone, waiting for the call.
I do not write this for your sympathy (I appreciate your decency, thank you, I do but that is not the purpose of this piece), more for those who may be or have experienced the same. This has been a trying day, making decisions and the speed they are implemented is dizzying, more life altering scenes happened in a smattering of mere hours than I can even digest now, so I had to write it out, at least what I can handle @ this hour. I would like to send a personal thanks to the staff @ JFK Hospital in Edison NJ.
how subtly we move down the long table, a feast with our family, different times of the year feel the same in here, time is somewhere peering in with jealous eyes. knowing at some point we will venture outside again, once small children (so I recall) are now here at the main table as adults grown up, their kids at the small one or running around, the parade of cousins, aunts, uncles and those married in moves on, the table has swelled all these years, I always knew, but never saw the subtraction coming as I do now, this soon, expected at some point, sure, but never on my side, in my direct row of chairs, a reckoning, for this is the way life is, I suppose we all hold onto untouchable belief, even in the sheer face of the inevitability, the reality, maybe we are fools but I would rather side on the side of belief against all and embrace that fool of myself, for what else can we do, pass the potatoes down and share a drink or two, a sliding moment of smiles, a flash of stories brought out like seasonal accouterments, as the actuality of the tales seem, and are, further off in the distance, for perhaps this is the time of my reckoning, at least as I slide chairs, as the elders inevitably become phantoms, one by one, some by some, so, all the more – stop and enjoy the spectacle, the pageant, the miracle, the banquet of life while the fruit is ripe, the buffet is vast and the glasses full, a moment to take in, as I approach the land of reckoning, not for myself, just yet, but I see, and feel, the coming of the sunset for the generation I am replacing in line next as I move toward the end of the table, may I carry such yoke with dignity and humanity – and love.
for of a pauper or from a prince from a line of kings or of a reign of khans; that comes that which speaks all languages and none.
a last supper, perhaps the thought had crossed my mind, after father, for all your faults all the times I thought I knew better, still my father; meatloaf and corn paper plate fruit cup struggling with the plastic fork, as I must watch the constant beep of various machines trying to understand the strange menagerie of this common foreign land, meatloaf and corn I ignore the bits upon your shirt the dots of gravy the unshaved look, focus on just being here visiting hours, for this is surely not home there are different rules here absolute rules here for no matter who’s father least not mine in a bed stranded, helpless, reduced tubes, bruised skin arms asking about the rutgers score the masquerade of familiar what of the outside can be brought in drapes are the thinnest walls the clock, sits, only the third hand seems to move time is giving me more now as forced conversations run out then there is time just the time to be together, silently for now, father.
childless lifeless stuck on this rock alone with none of my likeness
notes: often said, probably by me to make myself feel ok, “you need a license to drive a car but not have a kid”… true enough, there is truth in there, but in a way it is also a shield, there are days I wonder about such things, kids, that I might never have them, I have such a hyper tense apprehension that I need to provide perfection that there is trepidation in that arena, the burden of bringing a life into being is so daunting, that I want to be prepared, maybe too much so, and then I see those that have kids almost haphazard, even in my immediate circle, and just wonder, I just have such a deep respect for life and the creation of same that I would want to be ready as possible to support that choice… and maybe that has bottled me up some, regardless of where you are, having kids is a walk on the tight rope, there is no book (sorry Dr Spock), there are no rules, or easy path… like all things rewarding I imagine it is quite hard, and should be, but I do see those who kind of just have kids without any thoughts like I am laying out… and wonder if I am wrong, because having a kid early on, all those years you can be parallels, I am not quite past the parental age, especially these days, and perhaps I must admit, maybe I have been wrong, or would be wrong, and there is also the selfish imposition to further my DNA position down the line, that is part of it right? at some level (baseline mammal) we want to survive, even at the base level of genetic code that itch exposed, so some future search will find a feather (or whatever) and see my name, great great grandpa Dave, I am an adopted child, my dearest ex came from a bad family mix… we never considered it when we were both in our early twenties… was it a mistake? she was the only woman I ever considered as the mother of my children and the subject was off topic… so strange to boil this what if, so damn strange.
I walk outside, barefoot, “barefoot?” you think, yes, we have had this conversation before, unless you are new to my blog, so I can forgive you on that score, the world is misting, at least in this little corner of new jersey, not rain, not drizzle, almost an imperceptible spray, more like when a wave breaks on a jetty a few feet away, definitely not from the clouds, or at least that is the feel, the perception, the world has been more quiet these months (the strange spring as I call it), but more so right now, even with the expectation dams bursting with excitement at the prospect of summer, beaches, parties and the like, but today, more quiet sets the stage, I watch what little breeze there is twitch the clovers that have ingratiated themselves as citizens in my rock garden, I don’t mind clovers, although none of these are four leaf, that variety seems to escape me, somehow they have a better back story than most weeds, and get a pass in that department, the ground is barely wet, yet there is enough moisture to pool under the front of the car in the driveway, dripping, just enough, and not nearly a pool anything can swim in, there is nothing stirring about, the only sound is a family of birds in a tree up the block, arguing, about what I have no idea, but it sounds intense, but human sounds are absent, there is a solemn tone, or at least that is what I breathe in, perhaps this is more what this day should be about, not frisbees and grill marks, a solemn reminder about souls lost, maybe not every year does the curtain of this need to overshadow and dampen spirits, but perhaps there is merit in this, for at least sometimes, to remind us to reflect, stay inside our comfort, not rejoice in the shining sun unrelated to the meaning of the day, for we are here as surrogates to those who are not, those before paved the way for this day to even rise, so take a moment, and thank them in your thoughts, for a gift, the gift you unwrapped long ago.
my index finger and thumb stained with the yellow of slain dandelion heads, how visceral my hatred is for these little beasts, I can not say the origin or recall, I’ve just known these are the bane of all lawns since the dawn of the great suburbia, invaders, interlopers, never to question that they must be rooted out like cancer cells that threaten the purity of the host, staring down at my yellow fingers I realize all this silliness and history stored within me, items we have just taken, absorbed, whole and then compartmentalized for a lifetime, how foolish, but how human, how me.
instead, these lions should be seen as more, they are heralds, bright harbingers of the spring, even with edible leaves, and then there is the transformation, from a golden disc that sings then sleeps, then without even the cocoon of a butterfly, up rises the perfect disco ball of cotton spires, delicate sphere loaded with airships to transport the future to all corners the imagination or wind or beast can reach, a lottery which odds are obviously good, a simple engine of design, probably will outlast all our technology, the simple dandelion, to be admired, truly.
notes… listen up and listen good, I was there in that audience in 1994 about 20 rows back left of the stage, listen all the way through, you’ll thank me… just listen… this footage was cut from the official release… but trust me, in person it was electric… and when they did Manic Depression, they brought the house down…
I’d almost forgotten you exist, buried back there, you probably have not seen the sun in a decade, the house is quite empty now, quite quiet indeed, no kids feet running rambling, glasses clanging, wine corks thunking, seltzer gurgling, conversations rising sometimes hanging, sports on the TV, pictures of kinders, munching on crackers and platters and dips, how many years has it been, those family get togethers were so common back then, thinking back they feel like a monthly occurrence even though they certainly were not, and certain things were always there to please the crowd, the cloth napkins, certain dishes and certain glassware laid out, the fold up tables from down stairs set up to accommodate the flood of thirty or so relatives, the extra folding metal chairs, stored in the back of the hall closet, black marker marks on the bottoms as to not be confused with the extras brought in, what a fiasco that would be, to lose a chair to a relative you are most certainly to see again, at least for a few more gatherings in that same year, this all seems so distant now, almost blurry, fuzzy, looking down at you my old friend, a companion, a contemporary, a holdover, a memory trigger, from that time ago, your place of prominence on the table, brimming with fresh made ice from the fridge, gleaming silver tongs just under your lid, like a functional centerpiece you did reign, where did this all go, where did everything go, I guess, we all succumb to age, and change, and the accustomed customs wind up out by the curb for pickup, someday, maybe this day, maybe not, you cleverly survived by hiding in the back recess of a cabinet barely touched or ventured in, but for what? a surprise, or just a ticket to a time gone by, people gone by, time that has moved on beyond usefulness, I think I might put you back, at least for a while, and maybe every now and again, might I seek you out, to trigger fond memories of lives and holidays of a by gone day, when I need a smile, to remember not just youth, to remember everyone at that time, as they were with my eyes as I was… like a child running around in a forest of trees to which one day I would grow up to be…
strange how life works, sometimes the path is laid out for you, literally, not even subtlety, it has been many years since I traveled Chain O Hills road, so many I can not even count or remember, but twice now, in two days time, I find myself on that winding road for quite different reasons, last night I happened to be working not far from my first ‘real’ job in Avenel, the job that was to be my future and lead to my Florida adventure, these do not even seem like my memories anymore they are so old, but they are, the streets all look the same, some businesses have changed, some remained, so many remain as they were a decade ago, the street signs, actually stone posts in that town, the weathered painted letters, I know all the curves of these roads, then today, today started out or at least in bursts there was sun, then, the aforementioned foreshadowing come as the temperature dropped lower as the day grew longer, and grayer, then the sky turned to a shallow rain, cold, not heavy, but enough to trip the wipers into action, by all accounts I was going to be home early for once, tired, as last night was not the best for sleeping, no reason why, just was, the client today was a bit grating but nothing I hadn’t seen or been burdened by before, my phone rings, an odd time for a call, how we know things are wrong, how our calls are as nearly calculated and reliable as a heartbeat, I pride myself on preparation, on mentally going through scenarios, but even inevitability stops you cold, the words, you have pretended to hear them so many times, like footsteps approaching, you just do not have the bus schedule in front of you, but surely the bus is en-route, so I digest the information, such as it is things always take a moment to sink in and calculate, to percolate, to transfer to the extremities of your internal network, the tingle in your fingers, palms sweating slightly, the situation, just a matter of how bad and what next, I wonder if I am speeding and have conversations in my head with officers should I be pulled over, am I over the limit? these roads I know so well, my backyard in a sense, but they seem longer and foreign now, in the night, the glaze of rain makes me extra cautious, I desperately need my GPS as my logic is seemingly off kilter, my brother calls, he too is on his way, a deep hardening in my diaphragm is like constriction, a corset, inside, if such a cinch is possible, my thoughts collide, I never want to assume the worst, but as you age and watch those you love age things become more acute, I know this route, I know this route but my mind is exploding with doubt, I wipe my hands, tune to the classical station to find some calm, try not to blow through the stop signs, trying to contain my mind expanding in so many directions, pulling up to the hospital, I just see “entrance” and that becomes a beacon, my goal, immediately, the parking lot is agonizing, a zig zag, a maze, torment, I rather park on the street and walk a block, so I do, I have never been to this place, as far as I recall, so I don’t know where I am going, scanning for my brother’s car, no where, my pulse is sharp, I need a moment to catch my breath, calm, calm myself, I’m at the front desk, and learn from the desk that the Emergency section is actually another street down, a couple of rights, the attendant asks me where I parked, I think, almost as if my ability to discern what she is saying is failing, I point vaguely outside, she hands me a voucher that looks more like monopoly money, a five, in that game, blue, if I remember the details, to put into the little machine and out drops a golden token, I pocket it without even thinking, hop back in my car, go around the block, which entrance is it ? which goddamn entrance is it ? I think I drive to far, and then suddenly there is an ER entrance road, it seems, subdued in subterfuge, while I am certainly not, I weave around the lane with screaming arrows painted past the door, another infuriatingly strangely laid out parking lot, I secure a spot, careful to park carefully, I spy my brother’s car, thank god this is the spot, I approach the door and can see my brother and fiance’s heads in the waiting room window, I nearly well up, not knowing and letting your mind fill in the blanks leads to hangman, another deep breath, a pause, to compose my thoughts, and so we wait…
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…sitting in the waiting room, waiting, it is what you do there, I know she is OK now, stable now but not the knowledge of the extent of the not OK, she is in x-rays for what seems like days, my father, finally, a couple of hours later comes out like a phantom, her purse in his hand, looking a bit disheveled and quite exhausted, the word, at the least a broken hip (upper femur crown to be exact), surgery imminent, but for tonight just stabilization, so now my brother and I are afforded visitation even if the room is just a staging area until a more permanent situation exists, my immediate thought, she looks so small and frail now, faded, as if age had caught up all of a sudden or maybe I had not been paying attention, her hand is cold, I notice, so cold, she wills a smile up at us, her two boys, the only mother we will ever know, there are no words, there is no way to convey comfort but with a look, and the words, ‘I love you mom’, maybe with more meaning than the many times before in passing, time spins, as it is time to leave, I whisper “be strong”, have I watched her just wither away all this time? and is this all our fates? the idea of wanting to let go if you are in too much pain, seems so foreign to me, but how would I, how could I know, until I am laying there, threads being held together by medicine and the divine, so in my own way this is a prayer, even if for a time, might she find some rest when the morphine kicks in, for the days/months ahead will be long, and hard, but there are days ahead, I tell myself and for her, there are days ahead.
as is the x-mas tradition I grew up with, the family gets together, and we order from the only place that is open, the local chinese place, it is not even a particularly good one, we always say we are going to do something else, but never do, we settle on the familiar, of course options are limited, there are only so many things you can do on x-mas, I have sampled the few other goods, there is always the movies, for some reason, they are always open, I suppose it takes minimal staff to press play and shower some popcorn with golden delicious butter, been there done that, and nothing in the cinema is pulling me toward the theater so… there is always Atlantic City, throw away some dough at the mere chance of making piles more, AC (as we jersey folk slang it out) is a desolate town on x-mas, just fellow jews and chinese mostly, this makes sense of course, all up and down casino row you can go, any slot machine you care to, any table for any action, like having the town to yourself, nah, done that before, so here we are, ordering the inevitable chinese take out (delivery was going to take an hour, and seriously, the place is 5 minutes away), so we huddle to determine the order…
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like a fool, I don’t go with a staple, something I know will be mediocre but expected, I choose something off the grid, on the back fold, thinking that in all my experiences with this particular restaurant I was going to encounter some x-mas miracle with my order, “singapore chicken” – on the menu as: ‘diced chicken with fresh garlic and mushrooms’, sounds good to me, no dishwater wanton or undersized egg-roll this year, I am actually looking forward to the dish, I depart out…
they said 25 minutes, which in the chinese take out world screams “we’re really busy”, which makes sense, being the only game in town, I arrive, the parking lot is mysteriously… not empty, but not busy either, a smattering of cars just under a dozen, “bonus!” I think, I park, away from the other cars, it’s something I do, I approach on foot, better news, there is not a person in the vestibule, again, a sign they are not as busy as times in the past packed in like sardines, the outer door breaks some sort of security vacuum and makes the other door slam a bit announcing my arrival of sorts, I glance toward the take out table, but no, there are no gleaming packages waiting for me there, no matter, I approach the counter and give my name, sure, my stuff is not ready yet, although I am past the prescribed 25 by a few, I sink back into a corner next to the soda fridge, of course there are cans of soda, I don’t think I have ever seen a chinese place with fountain drinks, the place is near capacity, but no one else is waiting, I’m comfortable, for the time being, I do a little people watching, half expecting a familiar face, the only one is the girl, well, woman now who runs the place, she was in my high school class, she’s aged well, in walks another patron, table for two, accommodated but they are running out of space to sit the in house patrons, another fellow take out-er comes in, the take out table is still bare, so +1 is no waiting there, then a family of four to seat, and two more ordering take out, suddenly I feel penned in, up against the wall, almost quite literally, sure, it has been only 10 minutes but now seconds bleed minutes in my darting mind, there are now people waiting in the vestibule, blocking my escape route, how anxiety ratchets up the mind, the clock hits 45 minutes since my initial order, part of me wants to bail, but others are counting on my return, so I have no choice to bear out this quest, I try to distract myself, look around at all the silly baubles and trinkets you would expect, that cat waving a hand, the tacky toothpick dispenser, a ceramic junk ship replica, I find a little amusement in the Merry Xmas balloons all about, clearly these are not revelers in house tonight, and then another take out client walks in, he does not look too happy, I think he notices the table of take out is quite absent of orders, every time the kitchen doors swing open I am ready to pounce, certainly a great set up for disappointment, I try to play it cool of course, but I am anything but, I feel blocked in, everyone is in bulky jackets, and then one final creaky swing, a form emerges bag in each hand, could this possibly be… for me? finally? and my name rings out like cool splash quench on a scorching day, the masses part (all five of them) and I depart, meal in hand, ready to return for the x-mas feast, it all gets unpacked, the condiments bag gets dumped out, the dry noodle packages get distributed to those with soup, the green tea bags? eh… no one ever uses them, I unlock my plastic lid, eager to see this newfangled thing, then I see it, imagine strips of chicken the size of half a band aid fried (and resembling same), with some quartered button mushrooms thrown in that almost assume the same color, yes, this does not look so appetizing, but maybe I am wrong, so I try some, and maybe I was right, how can fried be… bland ? and somewhat moist, not even crunchy, I decide to just pile on the red pepper flakes to get through, even then the taste is sparse, not even a bamboo shoot or water chestnut to add some texture to the bunch, everyone (who ordered normal things) seems intrigued with my dish, so, heck, I let them pitch in… this is x-mas after-all…
Shades of My Garden 