I’m late with this, of course, just as I’m lately late with all my writing. Events happen and you sit down and report on them immediately while the details still stick in your mind, so I was taught, so I thought. But events also happen and the details run together in a multi-dimentional mental patina that flavors the memories and, perhaps, ages them well as with fine wine.
Or could that be a load of toro de caca?
We flew to Northeast Ohio, my nuclear family and me, to visit Mom, brothers and sister, nieces and nephews and a couple of old friends. We hadn’t been in a long time – long enough that my youngest son and daughter didn’t remember the old Dunn abode or the lakes or the swimming beach.
I had a great time at my brother’s place, more absorbing the vibes and pieces of conversation than actually saying anything profound, just sitting back with a couple of beers and good barbecue, surrounded by siblings and a parade of tiny toddlers I’d never seen before, but with whom I apparently share some DNA, playing Bocce Ball badly but having a blast anyway.
It was odd, as usual, to haunt the old fishing holes and walk the streets of the old neighborhood and see the last of my wooded childhood haunts turned into backyards for houses busy churning out memories for strangers. But it was great, too, hanging with mama and the others, collating the changes and the samenesses, adding another layer to the patina, reveling in the lush, cool gardens and greenery, where 102 degrees Fahrenheit is nothing more than a bad idea.
Of course I took pictures. Too many, as is my normal. I’ve saved a few in a new gallery over here, if you care to take a peek…