Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Where I lay me down to Rest
"Spread my ashes at mile marker 3.5 denoted by a plank of degraded wood, with only distinguishable markings of E.H."
Taken from my last will and testament. The stream I first caught fish, when I was young the bench stood. Still I didn't. Now it's just a strawberry covered bush bookend in July. Step in the footsteps of greatness, without knowing. Irony if I've ever lived it.
The laugh is, I used to sit at my dad's desk, pretending to be a writer. Dreaming up the front page dish, a child's dream. Writing is for those who's degree is in punctuation not punctuality.
The dreamer though, never quite fully gives up. Another ironic twist; no matter how many editors neglect response, there is this small light still glowing strong a mile off, distant fire.
The shame my words bring upon Hemingway's footsteps is barely palatable for me. His hurt was of the liquid kind, mine is of the not enough to forget his hurt. Yet again, a chapter in the irony of things.
Dark is the day tonight. Light is eighteen months from now. My coming out party. I will walk away from 160 to do a 180. Fail if I do, will not change this course. Cubed cells are ticking away at their days. Hard to imagine at 34 with kids and wife in tow I'm going to tell my tax man the bottom line. Instead of being charged in April a percentage of mine. Do the math a percent of two lines above is healthy tax business.
I took my father and Hudson to the stream above in proper time, my son was new, my dad was not. Loosing his faculties is poetic justice to another ironic moment; Hudson was just getting his. We sat at the stump, next to the bench. I was the only one aware of the significance of the initials. My father and son were too busy landing a fish. Enjoy is the fairest word that could label the moment. It was quite likely my two year old and ailing parent stood ankle to hip, in the same drift as him.
Life is poetry, if you slow down enough to notice. That day I let life catch up with me. Without my son or father watching, I cried in thank fullness.
My will was wrote years before hand, but I read it again that following week. Connecting me to the water, foot steps previous, and my family.
It is the water that ties us.