It is not as savage a day out on the Bay as it was yesterday, but the gun-metal gray waves are still thrusting east toward the pale brown sand of the beach at the State Park and the low gray cotton-wool clouds are nestling in the chill.
I got up fairly early after some vivid and dreams I was not completely comfortable with and made the coffee and started to get ready for the arrival of my brother here in the Little Village By the Bay later today- I am not sure when he is getting in- it is one of those fly-to-Detroit deals with a rental car and the long flog Up North.
There are too many variables, so I just will chug along and see when he shows up. I was sitting with Big Mama yesterday at lunch, talking about his arrival. She is eager to see Spike for the “big reunion,” and we were negotiating the timeline.
I normally spend a block of time in the morning wrapped around lunch and an evening block wrapped around dinner. I have taken to feeding Raven at the table, which is both disconcerting and comforting. He is still around and not completely out of it, though the whole thing is painful to watch.
Mom no longer has much concept of time, and Raven has none, so I get a break in the morning and afternoon during which I simulate work by sending short and cryptic e-mails to my colleagues back in the capital.
I have told Big Mama several times that Raven may be going on a trip, and that we will see what Dr. Blanchard says. She is pretty much oblivious to it, and I have got her to spend some time with her binders of family history she so painstakingly put together.
She wants to get back to writing, and she wants her car back. Neither are going to happen, of course, but it is something to talk about.
‘So when will Spike be here?” she asked. “Today?”
“No, Mom, he will get here Friday.”
“Is that today?”
I shook my head. “Who’s on First, Mom.”
“Who is on first?” she smiled, remembering the routine from long ago. That stuff is still there in her mental attic, and it makes it fun to talk to her. We were on the same wavelength for a moment. Lou Costello was on the radio show, which is a coincidence since Big Mama is pretty convinced that this is all part of a movie now. Lou talks to Bud Abbott, the manager of the mythical St. Louis Wolves. Bud wants to make sure Lou knows everyone’s name on the team:
Costello: Look, you gotta pitcher on this team?
Abbott: Now wouldn’t this be a fine team without a pitcher.
Costello: The pitcher’s name.
Abbott: Tomorrow.
Costello: You don’t wanna tell me today?”
“You are first, right?” asked Big Mama.
“Yes, I am, but What is on Second, and that is Spike. He is the second kid, and Annook is on Third. Today is Thursday. Yesterday was Wednesday- Rita came for Bath Day, and we have to work on that.
“There is a back way?”
I don’t know if it is hearing or cognition, I swear, but did not want to give up. “Yes, Mom, of course there is. Spike is coming Friday.”
“Isn’t today Friday?”
No, Mom, Yesterday was bath day. Remember, Rita was here?
“I don’t remember last night,” she said, not particularly concerned. I took a deep breath- this was so much like her mother, towards the end, when she was still in her own house in Massillon, Ohio, and the family was all there for some rite of passage.
It was raining, and the kids were little and asleep in their car seats. She looked out the door at the Taurus wagon and then at me with those sweet brown eyes of hers. “Should we bring them in?” she asked.
“No, Grandma, they are fine. It is raining, and we will just let them sleep.”
She nodded in agreement, and then asked me if we should bring them in. I reeled myself into the present.
“It is Thursday today, Mom, and tomorrow is Friday.”
“Is that when Spike is coming?” she looked around the Challenged Dining Room. “All these people seem familiar.”
“They are here most days, Mom.”
“Do some of them have other lives?”
“I would expect so, Mom. Some people do double duty, like Karla here. She has a whole other life.” Karla made a face and topped up the cups with Decaf. She winked at me.
“That is nice for her,” she said earnestly. “What about them?” she said, gesturing at Irene and the Cowboy’s table next door.
“I would say they are almost part of the core group, Mom.”
Raven bit his tongue, and said so. “Bit. Dammit. Tooth, again.”
“Crap, I am sorry, Dad.” That was the most I have heard out of him in days.
Once we know when Raven is going to go on his trip I can start to plan on when I can get out of here. I will be happy to come back for Thanksgiving, I think, but that will be very strange if they are apart, not that it isn’t now. Mom has been talking about a big reunion, and using my brother’s lapsed club membership at the Otsego Country Club for the big holiday meal, with all of her family around her, which is not going to happen.
Hell, I am going to engineer the theft of her husband of 63 years.
I sighed as we walked back to the elevator. I guess I will fall off that bridge when I get to it.
I feel a contagion with the dementia at the Village. I despair that am going to warehouse the Old Man and then take off. They have been together for 63 years. There probably was a different way to do this, but I imagine things happen the way they do for a reason.
It is like they said a long time ago:
Costello: I get behind the plate to do some fancy catching, Tomorrow’s pitching on my team and a heavy hitter gets up. Now the heavy hitter bunts the ball. When he bunts the ball, me, being a good catcher, I’m gonna throw the guy out at first base. So I pick up the ball and throw it to who?
Abbott: Now that’s the first thing you’ve said right.
Costello: I don’t even know what I’m talking about!
Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com