I'm a master of this kind of photograph. I love the empty non-ness of it. It is an acquired taste, maybe, sort of like scotch.
Whatever.
I forgot to comment on the Hunter's Moon. Travis reminded me. Twice. However, I am not the man I used to be apparently. In so many ways. I weary of all the things I must do now and remember. I am overwhelmed with insights and revelations these days, but none of them are anything I want to know. The world troubles me so.
Something was wrong with me yesterday, some infirmity, and I didn't leave the house until I was forced to. I slept and sat about all day until it was time to take my mother and her friends to another neighborhood happy hour at the City Golf and Country Club. It is a public thing run by the city, not one of those highfalutin places, so don't get too excited, but it is very nice. I guess taking the girls out once in awhile was my idea, and they look forward to it now. So, o.k., I rallied. I showered and got dressed in jeans, a thickish Henley, and socks with my Birks. And Holy Moses, did those clothes weigh me down. It was going to get cool as evening approached and having not felt so well all day, I thought to stay warm, but I can't remember the last time I wore a pair of long pants and something other than a t-shirt. Even the socks and Birkenstocks were more than I would normally put on.
Traffic was heavy. I was stuck in a slow moving line of cars when my mother called. The girls were worried.
They were waiting when I nosed the Xterra into the driveway. Another neighbor was going to meet us there. Well. . . we were only half an hour early for the six to eight get together. I got a tasty IPA at the bar and told the gals I would grab us a table outside. My beer was almost gone by the time they came out. The sun was getting low in the sky over the manicured golf course. I sat under a brief canopy looking out past the putting green and the driving range. All about me were young, pretty mothers and fathers dressed in that Golf and Tennis Pro Shop way, Banlon logo shirts, salmon-colored shorts and ball caps or some other jock take on the idea. And kids. It has been a long, long while since I had seen so many of them. I'd forgotten that they run and scream without pause. They ran and yelled and screamed playing made up games that took them around planters, down golf cart trails, and across the lawn where they would fall and roll causing me to remember all the sundown chigger bites I would get as kid. Oh those chiggers. But they never seemed to stop us from rolling in the cool, moist sunset grass. The sky made a beautiful backdrop for the tall pine trees that lined the fairways. Pines have become rare in neighborhoods that profit from giant oak lined streets and thus have become more beautiful to me than I could have imagined.
The girls came out and the conversation began, everyone repeating what they said for my mother whose hearing is going.
"What?"
She'd been to a new doctor that day, a specialist in thyroids, and he looked at her bloodwork and told her she was in great health. Sure. She can't walk, see, or hear, but otherwise. . . . It is the legacy of her generation. They may live forever.
But this doctor. . . I'm not so sure.
"He was great," my mother said. "He talked to me. He told me that castor oil was good for everything. He rubs it on his body for pain relief. He said it cures toenail fungus and athlete's foot. He even told me it will get rid of eye bags."
This guy has a medical degree and is touting castor oil? I was wondering if he likes to use sage to vanquish bad ju-ju, too. But what the hell, I thought. . . he made my mother happy.
After an hour and a half, I suggested to my mother that I was ready to go, as, I guess, were the others, and so we bussed our table and turned in our name badge holders so they could use them for the next get-together.
It was after seven when I got home. I'd only had a small bowl of soup to eat. I hadn't been to the store all week. What did I have? I'd cleaned out the freezer and the fridge after the hurricane. There was a super green salad mix. How old was it? I looked at the sell-by date. Or was it a consume-by date? Whichever it was, it had passed. I had tomatoes, garbanzo beans, and roasted beets. Garlic. A can of chicken. I guessed the salad would be alright. It was organic. What could go wrong?
Wine. T.V. YouTube was feeding me some pretty great stuff. Really good. So good, I had to send some of it to friends. I got crackers and cheese. . . and somehow managed to break a tooth. It was a filling that I remember the dentist telling me, "I don't know how long this will hold." All I could hope is that he would fill it again for cheap. I do not want to get another crown.
Outside, the full moon was raging. Clear night, big ole sky. Down by the creek, coyotes and owls were hunting in the cool October air. Moms and dads had put their chigger-bit kids to bed. My tongue kept rubbing over the place where the filling had been. And the music played on.
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