Only Connect And Be There For Our Children

I
It is the year 2023 and the month is September. I am in Vermont. I live in a two bedroom cabin. The cabin is close to a lake, and I am watching the magnificent Sunset.
I am on the cabin porch sitting at a folding card table. I am writing a journal which is in front of me. I find it therapeutic. The writing is going slow. I think about whether I should include this, that or the other thing…or not.
I haven’t said much in my life, I’ve written much but I haven’t said much. I think the reason is when I say something, I can’t take it back, but when I write something, I can…delete, erase, heavy cross out or just tear into little pieces and throw away.
Like I said I have written much, and the writing is everywhere…files in computer, several black/white composition books, a couple dresser drawers of written on scrap papers.
I am a horrific procrastinator.
An appointment with my doctor changed that.
When I got home from that appointment, I put computer, composition books and scrap papers, in a garbage bag, then, garbage bag, into the trunk of my car.
I got very emotional as I drove to a dumpster by the church. After lifting the lid, I stood there holding the bag.
And then I realized, after my breathing slowed, I have always thought I’d benefit from a timeline with an end date…well I’ll be fucked…is this a gracious nod from the gods, or what.
II
I miss my cat, Greylock.
I remember I am in the Doc’s office and as I lift Greylock, he is not squirming, onto the table I look at the Doc, as she starts to examine him with tender care. I couldn’t help thinking, a month earlier, my independent cat would have resisted any poking or prodding. There is a chair by the wall and I bring it over to sit in front of Greylock, his chin resting on the aluminum table. I bring my face close to his and gently rub his head. I am saying goodbye to my beloved, always with the leg rub for his Dad, and a companion of twenty years. A quick glance from Greylock’s eyes to the Doctor and I can see, she is ready with the injection of phenobarbital. I nod while continuing to pet Greylock’s head softly. “It won’t be long.”, the Doctor says. I hold back the tears, not wanting to upset Grey. “Such a good boy, what a good boy you are.”, Slowly, his eyes close, and the Doctor, places the stethoscope on Greylock’s chest. “He has passed.” She says to take as much time as I need. I sit there caressing Greylock’s back and remember our life together. The sadness, I felt was so deep. I know my grief for him will prove a grief felt, only for a few humans. Before leaving I look at Grey’s closed eyes, and with one last scratch behind his ears say, “You’ve been such a good boy, such a good boy, and you know, my good boy, your old man will miss you ’till his dying day.”
III
That was emotionally tough, writing about Grey.
I’m in the kitchen, now, after having taken a half-hour walk.
For me the troubling thing, after shopping yesterday, is choices. I much prefer it when cupboards are almost bare and then decision-making is a piece of cake…speaking of, I bought chocolate cake.
I need to get this out in the open, right out there…I talk, out loud, to significant others, who are dead. They keep me company and I keep them alive. Hey after seven decades, I have earned the right, but you may ask do I engage in this behavior when I am around animals…Yes, I do…people…No, I don’t.
“Yes, Mom, I will wait ’till after dinner.”
She’s talking about the cake.
I think three eggs scrambled with toast and cottage cheese on the side will make an excellent meal. Now, music to scramble eggs by…oh, yes, that one by McCartney. I’ll bring it up on YouTube…Yesterday/Scrambled Eggs. It was fun scrambling to McCartney.
All the food, including the cake, went down so well, yummy…tummy is happy.
I saw a woodchuck earlier and will put that in my notebook of animal sightings. It would be so cool to be the size of Tom Thumb and scurry about the burrows and tunnels. The tunnels can be as long as 45 feet. Though, I think Tom would have to be suicidal to try that.
Pastor Jim laughed when I told him about the woodchuck. Jim is younger than I am and a cool guy. We talk about all that is going on in the world. His take on things is a bit conservative. We are comfortable with agreeing to disagree, which makes for civil discourse. We usually have our conversations while walking a trail or sometimes over lunch at Millie’s Diner. I’m a little worried about Jim. The last time we talked, he said he was considering letting go of his Vocation. He said he can’t, for the life of him, understand how The Creator can let go the incredible Creation, to humankind’s obsession with fossil fuels. The thought of giving up his Vocation has been on his mind for a year or so. Jim said the time has come to give up on the notion of ‘Free Will’. How could The Creator give up The Creation for the sake of humankind exercising their free will; a free will that won’t let go of its’ addiction to fossil fuels. An addiction that will not end its’ fossil fuel high and will bring the earth to its’ knees, pleading for an intervention.

IV

Near the end of one of our walks, Reverend Jim said he would like to finish our conversation over a boilermaker and asked if I didn’t mind, knowing I was a teetotaler.

Don’t mind at all, I said.

Ah, this is good, been a while. How’s your Roy Rogers?

Tasty, thanks. You know, Jim, this business of the beginning of all things is quite a puzzle, And, we don’t have all the pieces to get a clear picture.

No, you are right. Let me tell you what I think. Do you have the time?

I have the time.

I think there was a couple, Fred and Wilma, who were in love and one warm night left their cave to sleep under the bright objects in the sky. They have a language so we will put them out in that field, flirting and it is 50,00 years ago.

Fred asks Wilma if she has any idea of how they came to be here, in this place. Wilma says yes and points to the cave and rubs her belly. Fred asks if they can make a belly popper. Wilma smiles and nods her head in the affirmative. Fred makes an advance and Wilma pushes Fred away and says, not now.

Fred pointed at a shooting star and turned to see if Wilma saw, Wilma was sleeping.

Fred started thinking about things he would ask Wilma about after she wakes up like; who made all this stuff like the grass, the dirt, the trees and everything else. How come, sometimes, he feels so alone and he can feel that way when he is with everyone in the cave. He wants to know how it is that all the different kinds of food he eats come out looking nothing like before he put them in his mouth.

Fred knows that Wilma will have the answers, she is so smart.

Fred did think of something about the world and he wonders if Wilma has thought of the same something. He will ask her when she awakes. Meanwhile he will sleep also and lay close to her and she can’t push him away ’cause she is sleeping.

Hey, Fred, wake up. You were almost on top of me.

I am sorry, Wilma. I was sleeping, I don’t know what I am doing when I am sleeping.

Are you sure, Fred?

Pretty sure, Wilma. Hey Wilma?

Yes, Fred.

I thought of something and I was wondering if you thought of the same something also.

What something, Fred?

Something in the sky. Something that is like us but not really.

Is this one of your lonely thoughts, Fred?

Yes, Wilma. That something did it all, put it all together.

Fred, what something could do that?

I don’t know, Wilma. I was hoping you might know.

All I know, Fred, is someday, someone will say they know something that no one else knows.

It will start from there, Wilma?

It will start and spread like wildfire.

Everyone will want to know.

That is right, Fred.

It will start because they are feeling lonely, Wilma?

I believe so, Fred. There will be another reason.

What other reason, Wilma?

Power. They will say that something said something about leadership and it will start and spread like wildfire.

Wow, Wilma, you sure I can’t touch you.

I’m sure, Fred. Let us go back to the cave and have breakfast.

I’m right behind you, Wilma.

Not too close, Fred.

V