Author’s note: This is from a series based on my journal. Unconventional and idiosyncratic punctuation and formatting are intentional.
This morning I had an email from Dad responding to my email from yesterday asking about his and Gray’s trip to Australia. Just wonderful! Dad said. The wallabies, koalas, and wombats . . . . whole shootin’ match is just terrific! Neither his interest in the wildlife nor the reference to hunting surprises me. He is a life-long outdoorsman and hunter. Gray included about two dozen pictures. One is a close-up of Dad squinting into the sun with an expanse of water behind him. He is wearing a faded denim shirt and a navy-blue baseball cap backwards. Gray’s hand rests on his left shoulder. His bucked front teeth make him look beaverish. The backwards baseball cap makes him look boyish. The combination makes him look eager and happy and much younger than his 86 years. I can see the appeal of their trip but seeing the pictures is probably as far as I will get. None of them sparked enough of an interest to get me to go so long so far. Where my day begins theirs in Australia has already ended and nears the start of the next. Frequent Flyer was the theme for Strands today. Answers included Pilot, Passport, and Runway.
In the paper I read about a new collection of poems by Iris Murdoch. I have been scrolling past the review the last few days wishing I had not seen it. Murdoch reminds me of my 20s. I read a lot of her books in my 20s. I did not especially like my 20s. Even if I had been more settled I was often still disturbed learning about the chaos and frenzy that so often consumed Murdoch’s own life. In the attic of Murdoch’s home the editors found two decades’ worth of dust covering bulging cardboard boxes, battered suitcases, and gnawed carrier bags from which peeped the paws and heads of soft toys. But I felt as if I needed to deal with the review and the way seeing it made me feel. Reading it did not make me feel any different but I am glad that I did not let myself keep avoiding it. Once I had seen it my mind would keep seeing it and it would bother me to know that I had not read it.
This afternoon for my appointment at the out-patient psychiatric clinic I parked across from a lot being cleared for new construction. A bulldozer clanged and clawed through concrete and rebar. I walked through clouds of diesel and dust to reach the door. I was still glad to find a parking space so close especially with plowed snow still taking up so much streetscape. In the waiting room I sat next to an older bald man with his chin resting against his chest and his eyes closed. On the table to my left the bowl of apples looked fuller than usual. They were waxy and dimpled Pink Ladies. Usually they are small shiny Gala. This time I met with a resident named Dr. Dixon and a medical student named Mary Elena. She took notes on a laptop. Dr. Dixon typed at his desk into a keyboard trimmed with plastic the color of pink gold. One cup of coffee sat at the edge of another small desk to his left. A second sat by his monitor. The one between us featured a picture of a U. F. O. beaming down on a steaming mug of coffee with a caption saying WE NEED COFFEE. Dr. Dixon had a thick dark beard and dark hair. Stubble ran from his beard down his neck past the collar of his shirt. Mary Elena is about half my age with full flushed cheeks and blue eyes.
When we finished talking they went to consult with their supervising doctor. Dr. Bilbo returned with them to recap what we had discussed. Sounds like you are coping with changes with some good routines, he said. I am, I said. He wore a mask and owlish glasses. He had a wave of brown hair across his forehead and a small paunch. He did not recommend any adjustments. At the check-out desk I made another appointment for three months from now. The hallway smelled of herby marinara sauce. On the sidewalk near Speedway on my way home I passed a young man who has been coming to the shelter. When he was there yesterday he had three lunches and ate none of them. Instead he drooped in a chair by one of the courtesy phones.
To read my previous post, “Are: 131,” please click here.
You may also support my work at Buy Me a Coffee.
I was a Kurt Vonnegut junkie when I was young.
Yes that picture of yr dad. One of the best. So right about the teeth —in our day getting braces was rare and today part of childhood it seems . What are u getting from continuing the dr visits? Interesting about Iris M. She used to visit our neighbor the British consulates wife in Cairo who took lsd to see what her son was into. Brave and cool. We’d see Iris on the sidewalk. They were awkward because the British don’t like to shake hands and being faced with Americans is a challenge