Day 92

Damn! What a wacky dream I had last night. And I swear, I went to bed sober. I was driving somewhere that in my dream was familiar, but upon waking, I couldn’t place it. I needed to park because I was late for an important appointment. But every time I tried to park, my dad’s former email address keep thwarting me. The address was in the shape of a giant (and I mean giant as in the size of a pick-up truck but it could fly) mosquito, the letters linking to form its body. It used its wings to block me and to shove my car aside every time I tried to pull into a spot. I was getting angry because I was late. I hate being late. But the harder I tried to park, the more aggressive the email-mosquito became. And the print of the email address became darker and thicker. So I reversed and then jammed my foot down on the gas. As I slammed into the bug, I jolted awake.

Daddy liked taking us to eat at Crabby Jerry’s in Greenport. Sometimes on rainy or cloudy days he’d take us for lunch. Other times, like last August after a game of mini-golf, we’d go for dinner. One year, when my son was six or seven, we went there for Dad’s birthday. He said it was one of his best birthdays ever because he got to spend it with his grandson. Almost every time we went we’d all order New England Clam chowder and fried clams. Even my picky-eater son, enjoyed the clams.

Capsule Stories Literary Magazine released their Summer Stories Edition today (https://capsulestories.com/summer-2020-edition/). The edition includes my essay, “Honeymoon,” which details my trip to Costa Rica with my spouse fifteen years ago. The essay is written in a series of vignettes, a style I embraced several years ago after attending a writing workshop that helped me pull together broken fragments of my memories into a cohesive story. The essay ended up reading like a photo album, with snippets, micro essays strung together to give the reader a sense of our adventure. 

The breaking news today is that the Food and Drug Administration pulled back it’s emergency use authorization for hydroxycloroquine to treat patients suffering from Covid-19. Apparently, the risk far out weighs the benefits. Hydroxycloroquine is the only drug the doctors gave Dad when he was in the hospital. My Dad’s heart started to fail shortly after he they gave it to him. Now my mother wonders if the outcome might have been different if they hadn’t given it to him. Probably not. But one has to wonder about a world in which patients are made guinea pigs on the whim of an idiotic president. 

It was a bit chilly for the beach today, and since my son has complained of boredom the last few days that we went, I suggested a drive out to Greenport. He used to love going there with his grandfather. I knew going with me wouldn’t be the same, but it was something to get him out of the house,] and away from the TV. When I first suggested it, he sulked. “I want to go with Grandpa.” Yeah, well so did I. So I tried the next best thing, “If you come I’ll buy you ice cream and duckies.” I would have added the carousel — to include all the activities he used to do with Dad — but I suspected it would be closed to do the pandemic and I was right. “Can we take the dogs?” He asked. Initially, I said no, but then he presented his case as to why they should come and why it wouldn’t be a problem in such a mature manner, I couldn’t say no. 

We had a nice time — yes, nice is a bland adjective. But it wasn’t bad and since we spent the whole time talking about what Dad would be doing if he had lived, it wasn’t exactly good. So nice will have to suffice. The temperature was perfect to walk with the dogs. A light breeze coming off the harbor kept them from panting too much. We stopped for an ice (my son chose the ice store instead if the ice cream shop we usually went to with dad) and then we walked the route we always walked we Dad. We pointed out the benches he often sat at, the restaurant we ate in, but both of us seemed to silently agree that calling attention to the carousel would be too much. So we walked passed it without saying a world.

Lily was funny. She did not like walking on the dock. The space between boards freaked her out. My son took Emma down to the end of one dock while I stayed back with Lily. The second dock my son was able to coax Lily to the end, but then she dug her claws into the wood so stubbornly I had to carry her back to the sidewalk. Before returning to the car, my son stepped into the toy store to pick out two rubber duckies. He opted for a taco shaped duck and a tucan duck. When he walked out of the store he held them up with a chuckle and said, “Look, Taco Tucan!” 

The harbor in Greenport was practically deserted. I’ve never seen it with such few boats moored at the docks. The harbor front was also void of the crowds that usually congregate in the summer. There were a few shops open on the main street, and if you didn’t look too closely, you might have thought things were back to normal. But they weren’t. Shops were open, but few people were shopping. There were signs strewn about — on the streets, along the water — informing people that they must wear a mask, even outdoors. Few people had them when they were sitting alone or walking down empty streets, but they were quick to put them on when they passed a crowd.

This evening I had a Zoom taekwondo class. I know my form well enough to be able to graduate to the next level a week from Saturday — June 27. It seems like only yesterday I asked my instructor when graduation would be so that we could plan our Disney trip around it. My promotion to red belt was supposed to kick off a summer of non-stop fun for my son. Instead it will mark ten weeks since Dad died. Ten weeks since our plans blew up leaving our excitement and anticipation, our longing to be with Dad, smoldering at our feet.

After we finished reading a chapter in Prince Caspian  before bed, my son said, “I had fun in Greenport. But I miss eating in that restaurant. The one we ate in with Grandpa. The one with the really good calm chowder.” The restaurant was closed. But even if it had been open, I’m not sure I’d have been ready to eat there, not without Dad.