thedrifter
05-20-07, 08:31 AM
Dream reunion takes root on spring morning
FRANK GERJEVIC
COMMENT
(Published: May 20, 2007)
About 4 o'clock in the morning on Friday, the scent of spring took some of the urgency out of going to work. That scent made the emptiness of most of the office flower beds a surprise; where's this fragrance coming from? Never mind, just breathe. Around the patio and the employees' door, the beds were clear and clean, waiting for the gardener. It was the time before sunrise.
No such scent inside. Mouse click and clock, keystroke and coffee. But it's a good, early start in the paragraph factory, because some others in the family have been building paragraphs out of adventures far from home. A nephew in Warsaw, a son in Iraq.
Nephew Justin, a doctoral candidate in psychology, has been on a five-week trip to Europe with his wife, Sarah. He's written lovely e-mails that my sister has forwarded, and judging by those e-mails, their journey has been full and wonderful, and now he and Sarah look forward to flying home with the sun as company all the way to Vancouver, British Columbia.
Son Willy, a lance corporal in the Marines, just finished a frustrating operation looking for missing U.S. soldiers in Anbar province. A headline he read back at Camp Fallujah infuriated him: "Al-Qaida group tells U.S. to stop looking for its troops." He wrote that he couldn't sleep, despite only four hours sleep in the last 48. He closed with, "Until next time, Salaam."
In a phone call with my sister a few weeks ago, we marveled at the obvious, the younger folk on such different roads at home and abroad. So many marvel the same way. And hope.
A friend and colleague once wrote about an imaginary breakfast he shared with his father and grandfather, all of them at age 58, bringing their lives and love and wisdom to the table. Can't happen, but it's a fine image. That breakfast would make some table talk to remember.
I had another image Friday morning, one that has my sister's sons and mine at some breakfast or dinner, a meeting of cousins and brothers (six in all), with spouses and girlfriends, a mix of hearts and minds. I'd love to just listen, to see how and where their different roads might meet, what they'd learn from one another, how they'd laugh and tease and tell their stories. What lessons from travel and war, from mountain climbing and academe and farming and movies and faith or its absence? From roads straight and wayward. What lessons would my young sons learn from their older cousins and brothers, who are more like young uncles than cousins or brothers?
What lessons might the old man learn?
There's an element of envy and selfishness at play here, even in this imaginary scene. I'd envy the adventures and sorely regret opportunities skipped or taken for granted at their age. But the image of the meeting is stronger than that: We've never had all six lads together at once, and six raised glasses at a table in sunlight is a sight out of heaven. Made for a fine May day, right here on Earth, in this life.
I wonder if it will happen, and if I'll live long enough to see it, but that's not the point. The point is that they all live long enough and find a way to gather for that toast.
When the rising sun cleared the front range of the Chugach and a bank of clouds Friday morning, visions began to dissolve. The clock read 7:02 and read me the riot act about getting done. Day's work ahead. Outside, the empty beds still waited for their gardener, and I had my own to tend to, one way or another.
The air's scent wasn't quite as fresh, but it was still morning, and nothing looked worn. Brighter light wasn't harsh, just a clearer call to keep moving. One of those younger sons was due in school, there was one more thing to add to that package to Iraq, and later, I should try to send a note back to my sister.
But I can still imagine the six of them together. Whether host, guest or ghost, I aim to be there when they sit down at the table.
Contact Frank Gerjevic at fgerjevic@adn.com.
Ellie
FRANK GERJEVIC
COMMENT
(Published: May 20, 2007)
About 4 o'clock in the morning on Friday, the scent of spring took some of the urgency out of going to work. That scent made the emptiness of most of the office flower beds a surprise; where's this fragrance coming from? Never mind, just breathe. Around the patio and the employees' door, the beds were clear and clean, waiting for the gardener. It was the time before sunrise.
No such scent inside. Mouse click and clock, keystroke and coffee. But it's a good, early start in the paragraph factory, because some others in the family have been building paragraphs out of adventures far from home. A nephew in Warsaw, a son in Iraq.
Nephew Justin, a doctoral candidate in psychology, has been on a five-week trip to Europe with his wife, Sarah. He's written lovely e-mails that my sister has forwarded, and judging by those e-mails, their journey has been full and wonderful, and now he and Sarah look forward to flying home with the sun as company all the way to Vancouver, British Columbia.
Son Willy, a lance corporal in the Marines, just finished a frustrating operation looking for missing U.S. soldiers in Anbar province. A headline he read back at Camp Fallujah infuriated him: "Al-Qaida group tells U.S. to stop looking for its troops." He wrote that he couldn't sleep, despite only four hours sleep in the last 48. He closed with, "Until next time, Salaam."
In a phone call with my sister a few weeks ago, we marveled at the obvious, the younger folk on such different roads at home and abroad. So many marvel the same way. And hope.
A friend and colleague once wrote about an imaginary breakfast he shared with his father and grandfather, all of them at age 58, bringing their lives and love and wisdom to the table. Can't happen, but it's a fine image. That breakfast would make some table talk to remember.
I had another image Friday morning, one that has my sister's sons and mine at some breakfast or dinner, a meeting of cousins and brothers (six in all), with spouses and girlfriends, a mix of hearts and minds. I'd love to just listen, to see how and where their different roads might meet, what they'd learn from one another, how they'd laugh and tease and tell their stories. What lessons from travel and war, from mountain climbing and academe and farming and movies and faith or its absence? From roads straight and wayward. What lessons would my young sons learn from their older cousins and brothers, who are more like young uncles than cousins or brothers?
What lessons might the old man learn?
There's an element of envy and selfishness at play here, even in this imaginary scene. I'd envy the adventures and sorely regret opportunities skipped or taken for granted at their age. But the image of the meeting is stronger than that: We've never had all six lads together at once, and six raised glasses at a table in sunlight is a sight out of heaven. Made for a fine May day, right here on Earth, in this life.
I wonder if it will happen, and if I'll live long enough to see it, but that's not the point. The point is that they all live long enough and find a way to gather for that toast.
When the rising sun cleared the front range of the Chugach and a bank of clouds Friday morning, visions began to dissolve. The clock read 7:02 and read me the riot act about getting done. Day's work ahead. Outside, the empty beds still waited for their gardener, and I had my own to tend to, one way or another.
The air's scent wasn't quite as fresh, but it was still morning, and nothing looked worn. Brighter light wasn't harsh, just a clearer call to keep moving. One of those younger sons was due in school, there was one more thing to add to that package to Iraq, and later, I should try to send a note back to my sister.
But I can still imagine the six of them together. Whether host, guest or ghost, I aim to be there when they sit down at the table.
Contact Frank Gerjevic at fgerjevic@adn.com.
Ellie