2705 – Came in here looking for youyou. See you’re as removed as me. Two weeks it’s been. Everything seems frozen still, moated by fog. Honestly it doesn’t compute. Nothing does. Except youyou.
3005 – Don’t know why she’s coming. Or why now. Of all times. She’s a pest at the best of times. I’m sorry in advance. Did I mention today that uu are the tower rising above my lazy midtown streets?
0206 – Already feel like a child again. Been, what, 3 hrs? She does that. Nitpick, bicker, nag. Drives me bonkers. Liz used to call her Ms Bossy Pants. Don’t take her personally. Take the hearts I proffer instead.
0506 – She promises to rent a car. Tomorrow. Hope that doesn’t mean she’ll be staying much longer. May mean I’ll have to keep coming in here. To steal precious moments and marvel at the view.
0806 – Don’t want to take up any more of the limited space that remains but have to ask if you are getting these. Not that it changes the impetus behind leaving them. Love climbing your stairs regardless.
11 June 2016 – No doubt about it. I have good stairs. And yes. Your mom’s a bossy one all right. Hard to take. Can only manage small doses before her constant agitation starts fraying the nerves. How she lords it over the house. Even when she’s not around. Her presence lurking. Like a privileged ghost. A fickle phantom with attitude. She pushes patience and tests tolerance. Don’t like saying so but there it is.
Away and along, let these plasticine thoughts begone.
Helps having Benson’s to escape to. He’s taken Liz and the girls cabin-camping. (“Forecast of lame,” Tammy is reputed to have said upon learning of the trip. Leaving everyone astonished til she crowned the moment with a superb, “Not.”) Asked me to pop my head in when convenient. They left on Wednesday. Been spending majority of non-sleeping home time here. Mostly on the couch. Reading Cities of the Plain. Just about done. Have only the epilogue to go, but waiting til I’ve finished savoring the first line of the last paragraph. Got it pretty much memorized:
“The Sabbath had passed and in the gray Monday dawn a procession of schoolchildren dressed in blue uniforms all alike were being led along the gritty walkway.”
(Seems a perfect sentence. Don’t know why. And even though it has nothing really to do with the main characters it somehow captures the thrust of the novel too.)
Otherwise I pace the kitchen to consider a set of sketches Liz left on the table. Earlier in the week we discussed a new project she’s planning. A tableau, she called it. Of windows and mirrors. Idea is to show a series of seven windows. Each window has a mirror (double-sided) set in it. The mirrors progress from whole (and centred) to shattered. In the sketches the windows are framed squares and the whole/partially whole mirrors are rectangles roughly a third the size of the windows. Liz talked about the piece as an open, if abstract, metaphor for change: things coming together or falling apart. Depending on how the viewer observes the piece.
Windows and Mirrors.
Love the idea. Early stages, but see it as a big step for her. Conceptually. Also, given Melville’s passing, can’t stop seeing of it as a reflection on the healing process.
Last page. We’ve had such clouds over us recently. A month now he’s been gone. Dot’s getting on ok. (Was staying with us til Ms. Bossy Pants arrived—even Dot has trouble getting on with her!) Misses him like mad of course. But it was an ordeal for her there toward the end. Not much left of him in his eyes. He didn’t know her from the nurses. Couldn’t place G or Liz either. But I guess he went without pain (so far as we know). In his prolonged last sleep (induced by aneurism). Just a body on a bed. Heart pumping, lungs breathing. Until a stroke called the dreams over. Death is just sad. All there is to it. Doesn’t matter if we knew it was right around the corner. Windows and Mirrors. How to say goodbye when the one leaving is already gone. Down to last lines here. This space is about to close. Can this really be the ending? Doesn’t feel complete just yet. No. Not just yet. It’s way too early. Too early by far. So much I haven’t gotten around to saying, that I haven’t finished, that I’m just beginning to fathom. And the rain out there isn’t forgiving. Forecast of lame exit. Seems approp to go back and read what I started. Think about what’s passed. Might be time for another letter. To Marcus? Yes. Dear Marcus. About a year ago….