M. D.

 M.D. 

I had a doctor’s appointment this morning. I had forgotten it, but Roz reminded me last night. She said, “I know you won’t get up before I do, but if you do, don’t eat or drink anything: you have a doctor’s appointment.

     “And if you get up after I’m gone, don’t eat or drink anything: doctor’s appointment.”

I said, “Okay.” Then, “Are you going with me?” She said, “No,” it wasn’t that kind of appointment, they were just going to look in my ears and listen to my chest and take some blood.

     Then she said, “But Albert can go with you if you like.” I said, “Okay.”

So, he did. He was glad to get out of the house, he said. And he was excited about meeting my doctor because they could speak French together.

     I thought: Even if he comes, is he going to meet Rikka? (That’s her name.) And how does he know she speaks French? (She does, because she comes from The Republic of the Congo, and she studied in Lyon.) But I said, “Okay.”

So, he came. And he came back with me. I had to ask, “Can my uncle come back with me?” – and they said, “Yes, if it’s okay with you.” He held my jacket when the nurse weighed me, and he watched her take my temperature and oxygen level and blood pressure. (They were all good.) Then she left.

     And very soon Rikka knocked, as she always does. And I introduced Uncle Albert, and he said “Bonjour,” and they started prattling away about the weather and Lyon and Trump and Marine Le Pen and shaking their heads at each other.

Rikka told me to go have my blood drawn, so I did. You go across the hall.

     While that was happening, she came in. And when Denise, who was pulling the blood out of me, was finished, and she left the room, Rikka put her hand on my arm and asked me how I was doing.

     I said I didn’t know, and I felt like crying, but I didn’t. Then, “Okay, I guess. Ça va.”

Uncle Albert and I stopped on the way home at Corner Coffee for a cuppa and a donut.

     Not long after we got home, Roz called. She asked me, “How did the doctor go?” I said that “It went fine.

     “Ça va.”

01.12.17

A reading from the Gospel according to Francois

 A reading from the Gospel according to François  

Sherwood Forest

Uncle Albert has been here since Friday. That was the day I came home. Friday. Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and now Wednesday.

     He is up early every morning, dressed and sitting at the kitchen table when I come down. At least, he is up earlier than I am. I am not up early at all. I go to bed early, but I get up late.

     He is up, dressed, sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. This morning I asked him if there was anything interesting in it. He shook his head. “It’s the same old sadness,” he said. “The world has forgotten how to be merry.”

     We drink coffee and eat toast and jam for breakfast.

I have another cup of coffee after my nap. We sit at the kitchen table again, and Uncle Albert reads to me several of La Rochefoucauld’s sentences. He reads the French, then he translates.

La plupart des amis dégôutent de l’amitié, et la plupart des dévots dégôutent de la dévotion. I’m going to turn this around, he says: Just as most pious people make us lose our taste for piety, most of our friends will make us lose our taste for friendship.

Dans la vieillesse de l’amour comme dans celle de l’âge, on vit encore pour les maux, mais on ne vit plus pour les plaisirs. In the last stages of love as in the last stages of life, it is no longer the pleasures we live for but the pains.

Rien n’empêche tant d’être naturel, que l’envie de la paraître. Nothing prevents our being natural so much as the desire to appear natural.

La plus véritable marque d’être né avec de grandes qualités, c’est d’être né sans envie. The surest sign of having been born great is having been born without envy.

After our coffee and La Rochefoucauld, we go into the living room, and we listen to music. There are music channels on the television. We listen to Latin, and we listen to Big Band.

     Before too long, Roz will come home and ask us what’s for dinner, then she will laugh. We all go into the kitchen, and Uncle Albert and I do what she tells us. I think they are merry, and I try to join in.

     Last night we had eggs and toast and bacon and fruit cocktail. And then we merrily washed the dishes, and merrily we dried them; then we put them away.

01.11.17

If it's Tuesday, it must be Tuesday.

 If it’s Tuesday, it must be Tuesday. 

Uncle Albert has come to visit. He was here on Friday, when I came home. Roz brought me. We stopped for dinner on the way, a place we used to like. I had a fried-green tomato, bacon, and lettuce sandwich, except the lettuce was kale, I think, and it was cooked (like the bacon and the tomato). Roz had something else.

     Then we came home, and Uncle Albert was here. And he was here the next day and the next, when we watched association football and went to church; and yesterday, too, he was here.

And today. He is here to “keep an eye on me.” That’s what he said last night, when I asked him how long he was going to stay. Keep an eye on me while Roz is at work I think he means.

Roz had already gone to work, and he was sitting at the kitchen table, when I came down. He looked uncomfortable. He’s 96 years old, after all, and he is very thin – he sits on his bones.

     I poured a cup of coffee. I said, “You look uncomfortable.” He said, “I’m uncomfortable even when I’m asleep.”

     “Oh,” I said.

The coaches won.

He said, “We didn’t watch the game last night.” I said, “What game?” He said, “The American football game.”

     “Who was playing?” I said. I thought, “I’ve lost track.” I thought, “I don’t even know what game he’s talking about.”

     He said, “Alabama and Clemson.”  “Oh,” I said, trying to put into my voice that I understood what that meant. “Who won?” I asked.

     “Oh,” he said. “The coaches won. And the advertisers.”

I looked at the clock. It wasn’t 9:00 yet. I take a nap after lunch. Then, I can have another cup of coffee.

    

01.10.17

Monday, Monday

 Monday, Monday 

Let’s see.

     I came home on Friday. Uncle Albert was here. On Saturday we watched football (FA Cup): Arsenal won. On Sunday we went to church, and Clara Bow preached. We watched football: Tottenham won.

     I took a nap both days, because that’s supposed to help: to get undressed after lunch, to put on my pajamas, and to get into bed for an hour-and-a-half. Then, I can have another cup of coffee. I have a cup of coffee at breakfast; and I can have another cup of coffee after my nap.

Egg salad sandwich with root beer.

Earlier this morning Uncle Albert was talking about Meryl Streep. Somebody had said something on TV about how brave she was, “speaking truth to power.” Uncle Albert said something like: “More like privilege speaking to privilege.” He wondered if anymore anyone without power could speak truth to power; he wondered if she gave away all that she had and suffered her body to be burned if anyone would listen to her.

     He was referring to First Corinthians.

I told him that I didn’t know anything about politics anymore, but I didn’t think she would do that.

Roz went to work before I got up. She made more egg salad sandwiches for lunch. They are in the refrigerator, brewing.

01.09.17

Down there on a visit

 Down there on a visit 

Uncle Albert has come to visit. This is a serious matter – it must be. I didn’t think he’d ever leave Paradise. In fact, how did he get out in the middle of winter?

     He was here Friday night, when I got home. Roz brought me.

She picked me up before supper, because we had supper on the way home. We stopped at a place in Seeville we used to like. She said, “I have a surprise for you.”

     I said, “Tell me.”

     “It’s a surprise.”

     “Will I like it?”

     She said, “I hope so.”

Uncle Albert was the surprise, I think. At least, there wasn’t any other. He was climbing to his feet when we came through the front door.

     “Your Uncle Albert’s come for a visit,” Roz said.

     “Oh,” I said. “Did you eat?” I asked Uncle Albert. “We ate on the way home,” I said. “That’s why I was wondering if you ate.”

     He said he had.

     “Oh,” I said.

He was here again yesterday. He asked me how I was feeling, and I said, “Fine.” We watched football together: I’d forgotten he liked football. (I should say, Not American football. These were FA Cup games. Arsenal barely beat some team from somewhere in the north, Prescott or Presswick or – I think it began with a P. Arsenal is Uncle Albert’s team, the one he roots for.)

     We had egg salad sandwiches for lunch. Roz made them before she went to work. She had to work in the morning, because she’d taken off work the afternoon before.

     To pick me up.

Clara Bow, 1927

This morning we went to church, Uncle Albert and I. Roz didn’t come. There was snow yesterday night, but it was pretty much gone this morning. I drove.

     The preacher was a young woman, very young, it seemed, to Uncle Albert and me. “She looks just like Clara Bow,” Uncle Albert said, “circa 1927.” Uncle Albert was six years old in 1927. 
     I looked up Clara Bow, when we came home. The young woman did look like her. She was very pretty.

     She spoke very quietly. She sounded afraid.

When we got home, I said to Uncle Albert: “She sounded afraid.”

     “She did,” he said. “I liked that.”

     “I did, too,” I said. Then, I said, “Why?”

     “Why did I like it?” he asked.

     “Yes,” I said. “And why did I?”

Uncle Albert said, “She was preaching from the Gospel.” I nodded. It was the story of Jesus’ being baptized. He comes from Galilee to the Jordan River, to be baptized by John; but John doesn’t want to. But Jesus says, “Go ahead. It’s the right thing to do.” And John baptizes him, and when he comes out of the water, Jesus sees the heavens open and a dove, and he hears a voice: “This is my son.” And so forth.

     “She was preaching from the Gospel,” Uncle Albert said. “It’s always good to be afraid when you’re preaching from the Gospel.” I nodded. I knew why: it’s because the Gospel is always scary.

We went to the early service, and we were home in time to watch the game between Tottenham and Aston Villa. And Tottenham won.

01.08.17

My way or the highway

 My way or the highway 

Or the parable of the officials from Jerusalem. Who, in this case, are the apostles Peter and John, because you can’t trust anyone these days. Is the kingdom of God really like this?

 

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01.06.17

Coda

Coda 

Dateline: Bedlam. There is nothing to do with failure. Optimists would add, “ . . . except learn from it.” But we don’t. Or what we learn is of no value: the circumstances never – and can never – come round again.

12.31.16