Tuesday, October 11, 2005
i saw joan this weekend.
she was at the front door when we drove up to her house. she opened the screen and stepped out, waving. "hi, guys!" she said, just like always.
she was working in the kitchen in the morning, making coffee, teasing me that it was decaf. she laughed when i told her she wasn't funny, that she shouldn't mess with my caffeine addiction.
she padded up and down the hall in her slippers, bringing out more cereal, paper towels, chips, all of which she kept who knows where.
she was on the back patio, by the pool, reading the morning paper. kitty frank wove in and around her legs, looking for attention.
she tended to her desert landscaping in the back--the gardens were gorgeous and quiet and comforting as i wandered through them.
i jogged through the park north of joan's house, and thought of her. i shopped for groceries at fry's and remembered her there.
the toilet overflowed one night, and joan laughed loudly while don crossly and unsuccessfully used the plunger. quite amused, she was.
there won't be any more halloween cards from granny joan for the kids. no more thanksgiving visits, or christmas boxes in the mail. no more birthday cards with inflammatory political news clippings. joan was a constant presence at our house, no matter how far away we lived.
sunday morning, joan cried a little and hugged us tight. she wished we didn't have to leave so soon.