MaineCourse

Wednesday

I drove down by the river, past Ellis Park where they race horses, and then under both bridges which cross into Kentucky. I wanted to see in the daylight, what I could only vaguely see in the dark, last year, when I missed my right turn onto Bellemeade. Less mysterious in the light of day, but also people barren, except for an occasional car driving into or away from the closed Park.

After a fashion, I drove to Pennylane , the down-the-street coffee cafe. Pennylane is much like The Continental Cafe in West Acton. Walls with photos for sale; coffee, pastry and a bit more. While I was writing this entry, my mother called me on my cell phone to warn me of an impending thunderstorm. Two of the worst storms to hit the area had both arrived on the 8th of June. The first in 1982 and the second in 1995. She wanted me to come home where I'd be safe.

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"Did you think I just talked the tree into that shape?"




I'd helped my father trim the lower branches of the Persian Locust in his front yard and we were returning his long handled limb pruner to the garage. This tree is in the corner of the backyard. Behind it , in another yard, is a similar tree, but one which was never trimmed.

"It's eighteen feet tall. How do you get up that high?"

"I use a ten or twelve foot tall step ladder"

Add seven feet , the length of the pruner, limit the distance he can hold the pruner's weight, and you fall well short of the top of the tree. Let's not even factor his ninety years, his height which used to be six feet but whose head I can now look over. But that has always been my father - doing the unimaginable. Incidentally, he planted the tree in the front yard twenty-one years ago.

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Cutting the neighbors lawn in ninety-three degree heat. He pauses ever few feet, scratches his head, looks like he'll never start up again, but then continues. As his son, it is sad to watch.

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Yesterday, Jeffrey and I stopped by The Shoe Carnival after we failed to find RAM for his iMac at Best Buy. I mean, failed to find it at a reasonable price. He'd been running his G3 350 on the original 128 MB's - running Panther too. I thought that was impossible, and after his description of typing in Word where he’d have to wait for the letters to appear, I suggested we add some. Last night I ordered 512 from Crucial.com.

Anyway, I knew I needed walking around shoes and that's why I browsed the aisles. I don't believe Jeff had any intention of buying shoes, but after thirty minutes we had three pairs between us. Every time I picked up a pair, tried them on and said, "This'll do," he'd say, "You're easy." Then he'd drag me to another aisle and I’d test another pair and he'd say, "You're easy." Before we shuffled over to checkout, Jeff walked up to the manager and said, "We came in here for a single pair of shoes but we're walking out with three. Is there something you can do for us?" That got us another ten bucks off.

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"Mike, let me make you a decent drink. I told Peter when you were here last you'd stumble in, make something awful then stumble out."

"How about a rain check, Jeff. I need a day to dry out."

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Helen, Mack and I returned six items, mostly books on tape, to the downtown library. It's brand new, and unlike so many buildings you see in our area,it blended in so well you could hardly tell it was new. Before we settled up, I picked up a movie ( to continue Peter's spirit) and another book on tape. The first movie I grabbed, with Anthony Hopkins, Helen had seen. What were the chances? The second, a movie I thought I might watch with her, the tragic opera, Dido and Aeneas. However, those six items were only half of what was due, including a book by Nora Roberts that has been missing for a month. They won't give up Dido until we give them Nora.

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Before my father cut the neighbor's grass, I changed the oil in my truck. I dropped the heavy metal skid plate that prevents access to the oil filter onto the pavement near the front of the truck. When it came time to replace it, it was too hot to touch. Ah, I thought, I'm back in Evansville.

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Tomorrow: My visit to Concord Park West.

How hilarious that you miss your street and end up in another state. Your father is something. He reminds me of Mark's grandfather...90 years old in 90 degree heat mowing his perfect lawn. And not letting anyone else take over for him. Regarding your other stories, small town life seems to suit you. Or should I say the small pleasures. And given that sign you made, I'm wondering if your truck will come home sporting one of those "What would Jesus do" bumper stickers. Staying tuned...

Posted by chris.

And you like it like that (too hot). I also share Chris's sense of your belonging there.

I get the sadness in perceiving your father's frailty, but few 90-somethings even could, much less would. And I imagine there's something about stubborness and whether it's "wise" that colors access even to that observation, but I find it remarkable.

Speaking of the expectations of age, something in the wave of the hand, the leg propped on the strut of the walker makes your mother look like a much younger woman insouciantly lollygagging about in an older person's body.

Posted by adam.

Posted by Michael at June 8, 2005 08:02 PM