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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Demon in a Rut
later: just back from lunch with rutgirl. we are the kinds of friends that have been friends for so long that we don't even know each other anymore. i'm way too insistent for her, and she's way too vanilla for me, too timid, and we don't know much anymore how to bridge the gap. i sometimes wonder why we try, but i suppose it seems a shame to throw away a 20-year-old friendship just because we're not sure what to talk about anymore. so we went to lunch, to flying star, and then wandered around nob hill and looked in a few shops, buying nothing. we exchanged presents, and here is how i can illustrate our differences. i gave her three pieces of art: one of my own, and one from a woman named jill presser who does these wonderful moody yet inspirational paper collage assemblages. and rutgirl? she gave me an egg of silly putty, some tube filled with a powdery substance that expands when you put it in water, and two little keychain games. i'm 32 years old (and she's 35, so i don't know where she gets the idea that i want cutesy games and keychains as gifts). i suppose i shouldn't complain. i am truly grateful for my friend rutgirl, and to illustrate why, i will tell you the story of her father: her father was one of those lurky, largely uncommunicative men. he was always around, but rarely spoke to me (or to her, for that matter). he was retired military, loved jazz and big band music, was a model plane hobbyist and quite a talented amateur photographer with all the best equipment. he and his wife raised a houseful of daughters (four total) along with a houseful of foster children. and then a few years ago, he got colon cancer. overnight, his diet was reduced to jello and clear liquids, poor man. i, upon hearing that he was dismayed about the new all jello all the time regiment, did what any good friend might do: i assembled a little gift basket for him of about twelve or so different flavors of jello and a bunch of bananas. when i went to drop it off, he was at the doctor's, so i just left it, hoping that this joke was not in too poor taste. well, i shouldn't have worried. not only did his family find it hilarious, so did he. cut to several months later: i get a call from rutgirl that her father has died at home. i go over to the family's house. her mother greets me in the hall and i hug her. she tells me that the kids (his daughters and grandchildren) are picking things out to have buried with him, things that were important like games he taught them how to play, sheet music for songs he liked and so on. she asked me what i was going to put in his coffin with him. i said that i was sure that that should be a special thing for the kids and grandkids to do. i didn't really feel it my place to do the same, as i wasn't family (this i didn't say, but it guided my actions). anyway, she came to me later (rutgirl's mother) and told me that they had chosen an item for me that would be buried with rutgirl-daddy. and what had they chosen? a box of lime jello (his least favorite flavor), of course. he had enjoyed the joke enough to enjoy it for an eternity they thought. i hope so. i love you, rutgirl. i always will. you are family.
More lies:
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