Things I Did in Pittsburgh Besides Guffaw My Way Through a Story


1. I reunited with my Bear That Heard Crying. Grandgirl said I could take it home. We listened to part of it, hunkered on the sofa bed, and because she insisted on me looking up another book she loves, The Bad Seed, that one too, just as spellbinding. I hardly think a person’s decision—resolve—gets them out of their soda can, but what do I know.

(You can skip the pink glasses, if you want, by starting at 0:50.)

2. I tried very hard to copycat Grandgirl’s TikTok dance moves. I failed horribly.

3. I got to see the rose. Grandgirl had been given it at school. The severing had been an accident—her brother had taped the wound. She thought it might heal. I laid the patient, already fading, on a bookshelf to dry, but whether it’s still there, I don’t know.

4. I played Smell. Grandgirl Older’s upper head swathed in her furry sleep mask, I lined up her many-hued scent bottles on the sunshiny windowsill like ladies in thin summer dresses, held each to her nose with the spray hole correctly oriented, and gave her a moment or two to sniff and judge which was which. There was much shrieking and second guessing.

5. I got fed eggs Benedict. No, egg Benedict. On my plate sat Grandboy’s split, homemade English muffin bursting with his poached egg and his bacon and his smooth lemony hollandaise sauce. I had to think of the creamed eggs in college, spooned over toast. The dish was mildly awful, yet tantalizing. It seemed important to not skip breakfast if creamed eggs were on the menu. Now I saw what I’d missed, the feast it could’ve been. Steadily, systematically, the golden mound in front of me diminished. Emptying my plate wasn’t something to rush through. I don’t remember licking it.

 

 













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