Swinging on the Gate

Bye, girlas

What’ve I enjoyed most. In life. About life. Of all that is, seen and unseen. More the unseen, isn’t it. The sensed. Less the seen than the within the seen. Behind the seen. Or scene. In, with and under, to speak Lutheran. 

But not only the unseen, the seen as well. A few movies, yes seen but the sensory. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Gone With the Wind, Prissy swinging on the gate. The Blues Brothers. Anything starring George C. Scott. The family von Trapp hiding behind tombstones in the abbey crypt, and no matter how many times we’ve seen it before, thinking Rolf will come with this time, Rolf who a scene ago was seventeen going on eighteen and so in love with Liesel, singing “You can depend on me.” Surely this time Rolf will not blow his whistle, but come with. Film Fiction vice Family Facts. This time I will ... . See, I’m trying to get this together, but what’s clear within tumbles out jumbled. The Carol Burnett Show, Tim Conway shouts, “Hello, Mother Harper” into the ear of a scowling, bitter old crone, leader of a pack of fools. The Honeymooners, Ralph tells Alice how members of the Raccoons lodge are to each other, they’ll do anything for each other, anything. Totally committed to each other, there’s nothing they won’t do for each other, they’ll do anything. Alice responds that we don’t have the money for his lodge dues, he’ll have to be late this month. Ralph panicking, “I can’t do that, Alice, they’ll kick me out,” Ralph who never gets it reminding me of Jesus’ disciples in Mark. Peter and Ralph, James and John. Sixteen. Marching down Harrison Avenue in uniform with the Bay High Band, Mr. Whitley in a gray suit always striding alongside. At the end of the parade touring cars, tops down, showing off our Confederate veterans. Nurse showing me Malinda, swaddled. Fifteen. At home on Navy leave Christmas 1960, outside walking Malinda and hearing Linda shout, “Commander Martin’s on the phone” -- Navy boss calling long distance to say I’m on the promotion list several hundred officers below the zone. Delivering OBGYN brings out a stark naked newborn infant and proudly shows me, “You have a son!” Smothering heat and humidity that first morning, early dawn, topside, USS destroyer in port, Guantanamo Bay. Books, tons of books. Bookstore in Woodward & Lothrop downtown, Washington, DC, 1943? Love, loving and loved. Naiche Road, 1974, holding Tass at the upstairs window as she calls out to Malinda and her friends walking off to school, “Bye, girrs.” I correct “girLLs.” She says “girrs.” I say “girlas.” “Girla” she says, “bye girlas” and it sticks. Girla. Daddy’s girla. Time, years stretching both ways. Books, many books, Meditations. At each stage of Life and Time, a few friends. Life and Time, Post and Look. Classmates. Plymouth station wagon. Dancing cheek to cheek, sweet fragrance of her hair. Maine, summer 2008. Summertime. McKinley out the left side of the airplane. Sadnesses. Leather patch at the elbow, tweed sportjacket I wore all that Michigan winter, coffee and Dunkin‘ Donuts with John Shaughnessy after class. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Newport Jamestown Ferry. Fifty-seven. Does anybody want to hold her? Yes. Me. I do.

Jay and Daisy meeting for the first time in five years. Circumspect. Finally he asks, “Why?” Years looking at the green light on the end of her dock, he thinks to change the past, go back and start over, what never was with a girl who was only a dream. Upon analysis, neither of them is real. 

Am I? Life: at seventy-nine and counting, a blogpost.

I’m so glad we had this time together.

T in Ordinary Time