EL DIARIO DE LA NEON AZUL
Pay the choir out in the yard
Fill me up with your love
Sparkling jewels on the hand of God
Stabbing blind in the fog
Lorca? Neruda? Christmo.
Tomorrow the trip begins. This morning it almost ended. I was up late watching TV at my folks place after having a big birthday dinner at sister Spunky's house for Uncle Herb and the old man. Their birthdays are only days apart. It was about 1:30 am when the phone rang. I picked it up. "Dr. So and So..."
"I'm sorry. You have the wrong number." I said, then my mother picked up the phone in her bedroom. "That's OK I have it." Oh shit.
Both Christmo the elder and Star are pushing 80 and are not as spry as they used to be. Who is? So when I heard the voices from their bedroom and saw the crack of light beneath the door i feared the worse. I figured it was the old man. But it was mom. She had chest pains. Damn. 911. Lights. Sirens. Cop. Parimedics. Ambulances. It was pouring rain outside. The light show in the driveway reflected off the walls of their house as all the vitals were taken. "Date of birth?" the young state trooper asked my mother. " March 1928" she answered. He wrote it down and said he was born in 1970. I told him he was now making me feel ill.
The old man and I followed the ambulance into Hartford. It was a quiet ride. Only the wipers' squeaking and the radio on low cut the silence. The ambulance driver had advised me not to follow him if he kicked it and had to hit the siren and run lights. I assured him I wouldn't. Right. I would have been up his tailpipe in a flash. But the ride was slow and easy. As long as it stayed that way we knew mom was doing OK. The old man kept sucking in his breath and exhaling with a long sigh, warning me hundreds of yards ahead of any red light. "I see it. I see it" I told him exasperated at his back seat driving. He meant well.
The emergency room was unusually quiet for a inner city Saturday night. The old man stayed in with mom as i tried to snooze in the waiting room, a TV over my head informing me of every Super Bowl statistic of the past 40 years. The cops wheeled in a guy in handcuffs and the nurses talked about tacos and mystery novels. I thought of Spunky and what was ahead for her when the hospital trips increased. I did not envy her. It was only a quirk of fate that put me in the driver's seat for this one. By 5 am we were out of there. Mom was fine. It was a muscle strain or something. No heart attack. Tomorrow the trip begins.
Fill me up with your love
Sparkling jewels on the hand of God
Stabbing blind in the fog
Lorca? Neruda? Christmo.
Tomorrow the trip begins. This morning it almost ended. I was up late watching TV at my folks place after having a big birthday dinner at sister Spunky's house for Uncle Herb and the old man. Their birthdays are only days apart. It was about 1:30 am when the phone rang. I picked it up. "Dr. So and So..."
"I'm sorry. You have the wrong number." I said, then my mother picked up the phone in her bedroom. "That's OK I have it." Oh shit.
Both Christmo the elder and Star are pushing 80 and are not as spry as they used to be. Who is? So when I heard the voices from their bedroom and saw the crack of light beneath the door i feared the worse. I figured it was the old man. But it was mom. She had chest pains. Damn. 911. Lights. Sirens. Cop. Parimedics. Ambulances. It was pouring rain outside. The light show in the driveway reflected off the walls of their house as all the vitals were taken. "Date of birth?" the young state trooper asked my mother. " March 1928" she answered. He wrote it down and said he was born in 1970. I told him he was now making me feel ill.
The old man and I followed the ambulance into Hartford. It was a quiet ride. Only the wipers' squeaking and the radio on low cut the silence. The ambulance driver had advised me not to follow him if he kicked it and had to hit the siren and run lights. I assured him I wouldn't. Right. I would have been up his tailpipe in a flash. But the ride was slow and easy. As long as it stayed that way we knew mom was doing OK. The old man kept sucking in his breath and exhaling with a long sigh, warning me hundreds of yards ahead of any red light. "I see it. I see it" I told him exasperated at his back seat driving. He meant well.
The emergency room was unusually quiet for a inner city Saturday night. The old man stayed in with mom as i tried to snooze in the waiting room, a TV over my head informing me of every Super Bowl statistic of the past 40 years. The cops wheeled in a guy in handcuffs and the nurses talked about tacos and mystery novels. I thought of Spunky and what was ahead for her when the hospital trips increased. I did not envy her. It was only a quirk of fate that put me in the driver's seat for this one. By 5 am we were out of there. Mom was fine. It was a muscle strain or something. No heart attack. Tomorrow the trip begins.
posted by mike osterhout at 11:01 PM
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