Sunset over water. Big whupp! Could anything be more trite?
I know it is supposed to signify peace. Frankly, I don’t see it. Another day shot and gone. Another day older and another day wiser to the condition of the world, which doesn’t cheer me up much.
I always thought I would forget. You hear talk about old people having poor memories
Well, if I’m not old, nobody is old and I remember it well. All of it. Maybe more clearly than I ever have, now that there’s nothing better to think about, and now that I am old enough to know it will never change.
Some things just never get better. Like this old body. The vitamins and supplements I take cost me more per month than my first mortgage and I never feel any better, which the doctor predicted. My doctor says I probably have the most nutrient-rich urine in the free world. My knees still creak when I get up, my left hip feels like it has a permanent Charley horse and my eyes…well, my arms are getting too short to read the newspaper.
The kids don’t want to see me anymore, either. My daughter says my negativity brings her down. “Messes with my vibe,” she says.
One of the boys lives in New Jersey and says he can’t afford to fly out here to visit me. He spends all his money on his “collections.” Junk, I call it. Old gas pumps, beer signs and Harley Davidson motorcycles that don’t run. Junk. There’s a reason people got rid of that stuff.
Of course then there’s my Holy Roller granddaughter, Holly. Holy Holly. Dumb kid just won’t quit. Keeps trying to drag me to church. “It’s fun, Pops,” she says. Church as fun. Yeah, I can picture that. I’m too old and stiff to jump the pews and rolling in the aisles would be hard on my hip. Next Sunday is her birthday, and she insists that it would break her heart if I refused to go to church with her. “You know you don’t want to break your Holly’s heart,” she wheedles.
I suppose I could go.
Holy smokes! There’s Doc Kessler. And old Kenny Watson from the bank. Is that Beth Morrison, the piano teacher the kids had? They don’t look too goofy, and the music is beautiful. Too loud, of course.
I didn’t expect to see so many children. I’m not saying that’s a good thing, you understand.
Blasted young preacher aims everything he says right at me. Holly told him I’d be here. She says he’s been praying for me.
Holly must have told him about the time I cheated that cement contractor out of his wages, or the lawn mower I bought in June at one WalMart and returned and returned to a different WalMart in September. But still…she couldn’t have known about the stuff I looked up on the internet, or my imagination, or…
Preacher claims God loves me, even with all my filthy memories.
No matter how old I get to be, I’ll never forget that baptism. Just a stock tank behind the church. I went down dirty and came up clean.
Sunrise over water. What a fresh and lovely new day!