school days

 

Sliding the door open and before stepping out onto 7H porch, one is hit full in the face and overrun with the muggy heat. "Ah, just a July morning on the Florida Gulf Coast," I think; but a news headline that I don't seem to be able to find again reports that this may be the coolest summer of the rest of my life. Oh well, better you than me, eh? I can't do anything about climate warming, or our political insanities, or the struggle about not enough charging stations for electric cars, or pretty much anything else; and in extreme old age I'm resolved to refrain from extreme anxiety about it all, as long as the air conditioning works and we don't have to go on another hurrication, nomesane? 

2018 spring summer fall winter 2019 into late summer: looking back on it, and with all the family anxiety that was part of it for us, that ten month hurrication following Hurricane Michael was my life's Time of greatest stress. And now America and global stress, eh?

That threatening sky over Thomas Drive and stretching round over the Bay in front of 7H was at five o'clock yesterday afternoon. We didn't get a drop of rain from it. However, after it'd moved on off to the east, I did see rain in the near distance, so somebody got it before those clouds went very far after passing us by.

Still dark at five o'clock Thursday morning, and as I glance out the window I see several small boats heading out for a day's adventure, probably fishing in the Gulf. This is the best retirement residence I can imagine. 

Two little pods of half & half, and two teaspoons of Demerara sugar in my hot & black this morning. Now and then the early morning stomach needs a break.

At our house the Fourth of July weekend always slides into Linda's birthday weekend, which, being retired and every day is Saturday if we want to make it so, we are in birthday weekend now. She's July, I'm September, we're ten months apart in age, together seventy years, starting somewhat casually and falling into it informally and tentatively. An early memory is at Bay High, passing the home-ec classroom window and being very aware that Linda was inside watching me as I walked by after marching band practice. Nowadays, 87, when walking, I have a habit of looking down to see where I'm going so as not to fall again; in those days, 17, I was tall and thin and walked with my head held high, pretending to be cool and not too anxious about whether Linda had another boyfriend. Turns out that several other boys were interested, so I shouldn't have been so cool and confident after all. 

My senior year at Bay High was one of my best of my entire life. And most days that school year 1952-1953, Mama let me drive her car to school. Drop Gina and Walt off at Jinks Jr High and on to my parking spot right outside the private door into my band practice room. I only needed a few credits to graduate, so reduced my six period schedule to Math, English, History, Band, and two "study halls". Being in the band let me take my study hall periods in my band practice room with the car parked right outside the door - - I had sixth period as study hall/band practice, and sometimes I flat out left as soon as Mr Whitley walked through my band practice room, exited the door, and drove away in his Olds 88 that was parked next to my car. Probably've confessed that sin here before. If not already confessed, I confess it now and, being a priest, absolve myself.

Thursday: with no ankles, another FuroForty day, so all day at home. Up early, so probably a morning nap. Light noon dinner, likely some of that gumbo that has more lobster than shrimp, and maybe an afternoon nap.

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The Stage Manager reappears, pulling a dark curtain across the scene. As he walks, he describes Grover's Corners at night. A few lights are still on; the stars are out. The Stage Manager says although scholars aren't sure, there don't seem to be living beings "up there." There is only life on earth, "straining away all the time to make something of itself." He adds the strain of living is so bad people need to lie down and take a rest every 16 hours. As he winds his watch, he realizes it is 11:00 P.M. He tells the audience to get a good rest, too, and wishes them good night.