I am rolling down Ventura Boulevard on my way to visit Unique Pastry Cafe in Tarzana when I realize I can hear someone listening to something I would never come across in Texas.
It is a song that has generated some chaos but I don’t feel like getting into that right now so I’ll just provide a link that has subtitles so if you are interested you can follow along.
Saw my middle sister’s youngest son for the first time in five years and laughed as he measured himself against me. I appreciated the big smile he shared when he confirmed he is taller than me.
“I told your mom to stop feeding you, but little sisters don’t listen.”
Gave him a big hug and smiled again.
Got a few minutes to talk to my niece about her trip to Europe and a little bit about when she comes to Texas for onboarding.
Wandered into the garage and went to Dad’s tool chest and looked through it. Mom tried to tease me by saying she has given stuff away and that I don’t know what is in there.
I barked back that I do because I know more about those tools then she thinks. Those tools are meaningful, significant and important to me.
Those tools are 10,000 memories of lying under a sink working next to my father or crawling under the house to run wires or make other repairs.
When Are You Moving Back?
Got a couple of texts and questions that ask when are you moving back alongside questions about if it is possible to grab lunch.
Grab a bite of my Black Pastrami Reuben sandwich at Brent’s followed by a mouthful of coffee and a moment where I close my eyes and enjoy a moment.
It is the first trip where I haven’t gone looking for my father or expected to hear him walk in the door after having run some errands.
Inside Brent’s I think about a time I drove him from Newbury Park to Westwood for chemo and then back again. I had to manhandle him into the car.
Neither one of us liked it but he was too tired to care and so he didn’t protest. He slept most of the way back from the doc until the moment I parked the car in the parking lot.
“Get me chopped liver sandwich.”
I nodded and watched him go back to sleep in the car and went to place and pick up the order. Jewish comfort food worked its magic and a couple of bites into it I saw him perk up.
His ghost doesn’t haunt me the same way it used to as I travel around LA. I don’t look for him on the streets or think about swinging by a Home Depot to see if he is hiding there.
I never doubted he was dead because I saw his body but your mind still plays funny games and mine was no exception.
****
My son is in the car with me and I tell him that we are almost to the Fedco we used to visit when I was a kid. It occurs to me he doesn’t have a clue what that is because it is gone and has been for decades.
I laugh and tell him I might take him to Akron and he says he doesn’t know what I am talking about. I have expect him to ask if I am referring to Ohio so I can say no and mention it is another old store.
But he doesn’t and I don’t mention it.
I am lost in a mix of memories of the past and wonder how much has been torn down and replaced here. Some landmarks are gone and I can’t say how, what or when.
Doesn’t really matter, it is just something you notice or at least I do.
I Am Already Gone
Took a moment to drive by the house I grew up in. It is a regular stop on every trip home and something I usually do within the first day or two.
There are a couple of changes that appear to be new to me, but could easily be old. I don’t look so hard that I can guarantee that I pick up every detail.
But every trip into the old neighborhood is familiar and every turn can be done on autopilot because of the number of decades of experience.
There is nothing I can see from the outside that screams “Josh was here” and that is as it should be, but there are moments where I wonder about it.
Moments where I wonder what kind of mark I have made in life and if no notice of my presence or absence is taken.
Maybe I am already gone or maybe I am just about to make a new mark.
Leave a Reply