Notes - a slip in private thought

        Mid-morning. First full day in Florida and you had your usual breakfast as you brought along Kroger’s crunchy peanut butter, raisins, a loaf of bread and bananas. And, you read the Tampa Tribune. Bill and Linda S. also get the New York Times on the weekend so two real papers instead of the one.

         Today is special also because you recognize the birthday of your first living muse, a once young lady who was your office aide in the early eighties at Indian Hill High School, Kym S., will do here.

         I wish her well wherever she may be. She will always be remembered. Kym, in reference to her own young life at the time, once asked me what love was and I found I did not have the words. Nothing worse for a would be writer to not have the words. She was one of those students I would have adopted as my own. There were a special few I grew attached to in that way, both male and female . . . just good kids who bonded well with this old fellow. Almost all my students I felt a bond with, that is as grand-nieces or nephews. Anyone who has taught for a lifetime knows how this is. I like to call it autonomous bonding. Some personalities just grow on you. I wish all my former students well. Some say teaching is a skill that can be taught, others call teaching an art, but beyond that teaching is ‘feeling the humanity at the moment’ in those being taught. This requires a deep passion for the species, or should I say compassion and empathy for the species, human . . . .

         You stopped.

         I was thinking to myself and forgot I was writing and now I feel self-conscious . . . like I should not express myself in this way. I am left in a lingering awkward moment . . . like I am being impolite or rude or arrogant . . . perhaps because this is a more private thought than I suspect.

         Post, boy. And, in that way, let it go. – Amorella.

        You are stopped at a Publix's for stuff on your way to Madeira Beach for a lunch along the Gulf. A mite windy and in the sixties, thus cool, but a clear blue Florida winter sky. Very pleasant overall. Carol has a book and her iPad for games so you will relax along the water. Carol has thought about a condo as the prices are lower these days. This is a surprise to you, but then again, it is just a thought.

         That’s funny, Amorella. All of this is just a thought too, the notes, the books, all of it – just thoughts, though sharable. I cannot really imagine Carol actually buying a condo here. We talked about it forty years ago and looked at homes about ten years ago. Everything was too expensive for what you got. Houses were three hundred thousand and were worth about a hundred and fifty or eighty thousand.

         You split a Santa Fe wrap and sweet potato fries at the Daiquiri Deck and are sitting in public parking overlooking the Gulf a hundred yards from the summer condo. Carol is returning from a short walk on the beach. You were surprised to see a younger woman sunning in a miniscule black bikini on the other side of the three foot concrete car barrier.

         I was as it is not that warm. You wrote younger woman but I’ll be more discriminating and say she was in her thirties. Most all those in bikinis are in their thirties or younger. At least she doesn’t have to pay for her tan. Beautiful afternoon.

         Back to the Dead being half a heart away.

         Okay.

         You are waiting unknowingly.

         True. I don’t know what you are going to say; therefore, I sit and wait. There is no use attempting to anticipate, to suggest to myself what you are going to say when I have no idea. What comes to mind, of course, is my grandfather. We stopped at the Treasure Island public parking, I think. Not much different than here. He was more formally dressed. In fact on one beach where we took a walk he had on Sunday clothes, all dressed up to go to church. He looked quite dignified and old fashioned and I loved him for it. I’m sure I had on sandals, Bermuda shorts and a short sleeve shirt. He had a smile on his face though like he was wearing next to nothing. I have the photograph in my mind.

         Think of a six pocket billiard table, orndorff.

         Okay.

         The green felt is your emotional face.

         Okay.

         A flash of such a grandfather memory is the cue ball hitting the full rack of balls and at least four going in the pockets. That’s half a heart away.

         Post when you arrive back at Bill and Linda’s house.