Monday, June 6, 2022

A glass of red wine in memory of Dan Paik

Dan left this world 8 years ago.

Eight years is a very long time.

Let's say you have a baby. This helpless creature eight years hence can tie their shoes, understand the rules to a sport or a game, ride a bike, make toast, do math problems with fractions, maybe they will even have mastered the multiplication tables. Eight years feels like a miracle when you watch a person becoming more and more of themselves.

Eight years, I guess, is just eight years when someone disappears from your life. It's a blink of an eye or an eternity, depending on how you're feeling at any given moment. But no matter how you feel they're still gone. It's mysterious, this absence that's also a presence.

Unless I'm so tired that I sleepwalk into bed, I have a word or two with the dead. My parents, Dan, a certain friend or two on one night, some others on another night. Then I tell myself that I'm okay. That I mostly did good during the day. And I specifically tell my mom that I won't be coming to see her. Not yet. I remind her that she got to live to be 91, and I'm not ready to leave here yet. I tell her this because in the weeks after she died I had two very vivid nightmares where she came back to get me. I want her to know that I miss her, but that I'm staying in the world of the living for now.

It's been more than a year since I dreamed of Dan. I'm pretty sure I'll dream of him again. I just don't know when. Meanwhile, here's a memory with a dream in it.

Monday, May 16, 2022

Planet Earth and Her Shadow

Our planet has a rather insubstantial shadow, don't you think? A mere veil. Not at all like our own shadow on the sidewalk, say. I love lunar eclipses. You can look right at them without going blind. The next full moon lunar eclipse here where I live won't be until November--and it will be at an inconvenient hour--which is to say when I hope to be asleep. There won't be another until 2025. Who the heck knows where I'll be in 2025. Still on the planet Earth, with a little luck. Speaking of luck--
If a tree falls on your house, will you hear it? Maybe. Maybe not if the tornado sirens are wailing and the wind is roaring and you're in the basement with the weather channel turned up loud. Yes. There were some big noises, but I have to say I didn't really yell, OMG a tree just fell on my house!!! But it didn't sever our power line (not even our party lights!) Didn't take out the air conditioning or any of the ductwork. Didn't break the window or put an actual hole in the roof for rain to come pouring in. That said, I'm super frustrated with the insurance company. But mostly grateful that I'm not looking for temporary lodgings.
Sadly, my old table did not survive. In what seems like another lifetime when this table lived in my dining room, there were many fine meals there with many fine people. Two of the finest of those people are no longer on the the planet. They seem as far away as the moon. And yet very, very close.

Friday, December 31, 2021

A Sheep in Wolf''s Clothing

Not like this. This is a wolf in sheep's clothing. And believe it or not, it's from a front yard Christmas display in my neighborhood. It could well be some pop culture commentary that I am unaware of, but I think it's more likely political commentary. Some sheep are marked red. Others are blue. I mean, it's weird and kinda scary, right? Maybe also a little funny? Here's the whole thing.
The driver of the team of sheep is Planet of the Apes meets the Grinch. And the baby. I don't know what to say about the baby.
Anyhow, here's a happy thought. What if Omicron is a sheep in wolf's clothing.

Saturday, December 18, 2021

Comfort and joy to you

And how about some joy to the world while we're at it? Oh, wait. Yeah. Supply chain. Well, I have a Christmas tree inside and another one outside. I look at those lights a lot.
I settled on my New Year's resolutions today. 1) Be excedingly polite to everyone I encounter. 2) Walk every single day in January, no matter the temperature.
I will not follow this trail out onto Lake Harriet, but I am lucky to live in such a beautiful place with a lovely creek that leads to the lake, and I will walk, even if it's so cold I can only go a little ways. I actually love winter if I don't have to drive in it. And I've made up with my Yak Traks, which last year I thought didn't provide quite enough traction. Somehow I feel very secure in them now.
Hope you're feeling secure in some way, dear reader. I hope there's joy in your world and comfort too. Let your light shine.
Here's a poem I heard yesterday.