My back gave out just before I hooked the last strand of crystals onto the chandelier -- 204 attached, and my back chooses to scream a loud and penetrating NOOOOOOO at final strand number 205. Thank God I clutched the streamer of twelve 97-year old crystals in my left palm before agonizing my way down the ladder and convulsing in pain on the piano. Ah, the Steinway -- how I wish Nanny and Granddad could hear me play it for them. And now their ancient chandelier stands guard above it, minus that one strand of crystals. But it's the penalty of being in my late 40s, I suppose. Old enough for God to remind me, "You're old!" but too young to admit that it's true. Denial's a river in Egypt yes, but oh -- it's so much more.
Don't know how my writhing body will make it through the next week. Have to drive that 500 miles to Republicanland and help my balloon-egoed brothers close down my parents' house. The parents finally went into assisted living and we sold the house. Got to pack up everything and bicker, moan, and divvy up the photographs and cheese knives. While they're still alive, no less. But the chandelier, got it two months ago because no one wanted it. Except for me. I miss Nanny and Granddad.
Crystal chandeliers, spasming backs, dead grandparents aside - the Daily Write's where you lay it all on the line. Expose your warts and fart so everyone can smell it. The more honest you are, the better your writing will be.
No comments:
Post a Comment