Here in Portland, it's a balmy 60°F. Windy, yes, and wet ... but warm! In fact, a third day of balminess! In spite of my chronic vertigo, I don't want to miss a minute of this bizarre gift of global climate change. After lunch (actually, breakfast, but who cares?), I dressed in wind-breaking waterproof layers and went for a walk around the big reservoir (0.56 miles around) in Mt. Tabor Park. It's my favorite meditative walk. Five times around is usually all I can do before my bladder kicks me back up the hill toward home. Sometimes I even run a bit, but not today. I'm tired.Yesterday the air was calm. The water in the big ponds was still as jello, barely jiggling. The hills and trees and clouds were perfectly replicated in the water. Today, not even close. The water was lively. Leaves flew everywhere. The colony of ducks snoozed on the concrete berm at the water's edge, out of the reach of dogs and children. A few raindrops splattered my glasses but off in the distance some part of the city to the south was enjoying some short-lived sunshine. Typical fall day, except for the balmy temperature.
As I was walking around the reservoir musing about what I'm going to do if I run out of money, an older guy in an overcoat came toward me the other way, pushing a big stroller filled with a wide-eyed toddler under a pink blanket. I smiled at her and kept going. When I passed them again, the man asked me something. I had my earbuds in and he didn't speak loudly, but I could read his lips.
“Is she asleep?” He pointed to the kid in the pram.
I looked at her big round eyes and said, “Nope.”
He winced. I chuckled and kept walking.
The next time around, the kid's eyes were half open. Progress. I don't know what happened after that. It was time for me to head back up the hill. I hope the kid finally fell asleep. I'm sure her grandfather could have used some rest. It's a half-mile around that thing!
Last year, my mother and I went out to her favorite restaurant for Thanksgiving dinner. I'm pretty sure she ate turkey. I'm pretty sure I ate eggs and pancakes. Or maybe that was Christmas. Maybe it was both. I can't remember. It doesn't matter. Now we are in a new era. The era of eating out at restaurants with my mother is over. Now we are in the era of eating alone.
Tonight I will visit my mother at the assisted living place. We will sit outside in the dark smoking area on plastic chairs with a little LED lantern to give us weak light. As she lights up her cigarette, I will ask her if she had turkey today. I'm relatively confident she will be able to tell me. As her brain flakes away, the only thing left to talk about is the food. I can count on her to have something to say. She knows she doesn't like the food, even if she can't remember what she ate.
I guess that sums up my experience of life so far. I can't remember all that much about it, but I know I didn't like it. Eggs and pancakes would probably fill the hole for a little while. Except I only eat pancakes when I go out for holidays with Mom. I've lost my dining partner. Today I'm alone.
