January 7th, 2002

caillebotte_man at his window

Long Night

This long night began before seven o'clock. They are getting more difficult. Time is so unforgiving. I keep remembering moments which seem to have been only a few years ago, when my parents were as lively as anyone. I'm remembering my dad working on his car, rotating the tires, taking the engine apart and putting it back together. And my mom, hanging laundry on the lines in the back yard of our house on the hill. Now, my dad can barely stay upright when he walks, and my mom can't sit up for more than a few minutes, or walk more than a few feet. We pay a terrible price for physical existence. Enjoy it as much as you can, while you are able.
caillebotte_man at his window


I seem to be more talkative on line than I am in *real* life. I just checked my user information page and discovered that I have made exactly twice as many comments as I have received. Apparently, I'm talkative, but not very provocative.

I also just realized that I missed my six month anniversary at LJ. I think it was June 28th when I began posting here. It slipped by without my noticing. I was always bad with dates, anyway. I'll probably miss noting my 500th post, too. I think I'm at 421, now. Well. So it goes, when you have a bad relationship with time, and your memory is slipping, too.
caillebotte_man at his window

What I noticed.

On my afternoon walk, two girls were by the side of the road, talking. When I got close, I heard them discussing boys:which ones had the best hair, which were the best dressers, which had the nicest smiles. I felt as though I had walked into a randomly chosen LiveJournal.

Farther up the street are two large oaks which cling tenaciously to many of their dead, brown leaves. Even a slight breeze sets up a dry rustling which can be heard for a few hundred feet.

The fallen pine needles along the streets are broken down to a dense powder which has turned a deep gold from the dampness remaining from the recent rains.

The long grasses of summer, now brown and grey, lie across the short green winter grasses and lichens in the fields. The colors are oddly pleasing.

On the porch of a house, a disused skateboard leans against the wall, next to the front door.

Some guy was using an arc welder in his garage. The crack and fizzle reminded me of a streetcar trolley tracking across the wires at a junction of two lines. A faint smell of ozone in the cool winter air of the overcast day.