A book for a ping-pong table This morning, I had been anticipating the end of all-day / all-night rain, in combo with the early morning sun: the perfect time to photograph what seem to be public works’ crews attempts to seal cracks in the street macadam, but really are masterworks of calligraphy. I started a few streets over from my house. I was taking these photos when a blonde-haired woman, about my age, popped out her house, walked right up to me, and bluntly asked, “What are you doing?” By now I’m used to taking photos in unusual settings, and seem to have a quick answer always ready. Smiling, I replied, “Hi, I’m your neighbor, Jim from Cedarwood Road, and I’m taking photos of these patterns on the street. Ever notice how beautiful they are?” She was sufficiently disarmed, and we soon discovered we had a mutual friend. That mutual friend and I have a lot in common. We live on the same street, we both write, and we both lost a son at a young age. So the conversation took a turn toward the subject of personal loss. She, in fact, was still feeling the effects of losing her husband a few years ago. So (mild) confrontation turned into friendship (perhaps). She asked how I deal with loss. I said one way is I write, and offered to drop off a book in her mailbox that contained an essay of mine. On this very day, she was in the middle of selling a house across the street for which her husband had done beautiful renovation and landscaping during his last few years; then came his surprise cancer diagnosis. She mentioned having a ping-pong table to give away. I said my youngest son was just now moving into a house with several friends, and that I’d ask if he wanted it. When I got home I called Max, hanging out with his friends in New Hampshire, and asked if he wanted a ping-pong table. He laughed. (I think their challenge is how to decrease the amount of “stuff” they are all moving in with, and the thought of adding a ping-pong table into the mix seemed very funny.) When I went to drop the book into her mailbox, her empty driveway was now filled with a large ping-pong table (on wheels!). It would have been an interesting trade. I pictured – had my son said yes – right away, after putting the book in her mailbox, rolling the ping-pong table down the steep hill of her street. I wrote on my note tucked in the book (Man in the Moon), that my son said thank you, but they didn’t have space, and also, I pointed her to two masterful essays to start with in the book, the title essay by Bill Capossare, and one the essays near the end, by Jerald Walker. I wanted to make her feel that she had received the gift of a book and not just my 8 pages tucked in the middle. I suspect she’ll read those essays and the whole book, as it will make a significant connection with her own theme this day of loss.
Posted on: Sat, 05 Jul 2014 21:48:38 +0000