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06/12/11 - (3)
The Reds
"Do you see them?" she asked me, with fascinated perplexity, The entire five-minute drive from her house, to Brio, The restaurant I'd invited her to, for Saturday lunch.
At least three times, with gentle forbearance, I asked her, emphatically, "See who, Nanny? See what? What is it that you're looking at, seeing?"
I beseeched her to tell me more about the "them," Help me identify the source of her giddy wonderment. "Don't you see them — the reds? They're everywhere!"
Even then, I wasn't quite certain the "them" was solved, Not until I remembered the truth, That she was seeing her universe through cataracted lenses.
"Oh, you mean all those red stop signs, red stoplights, red cars, The taillights that turn red when drivers press brake pedals?" "They're all over the whole country; they're everywhere!"
"Nanny, why are you so excited by the reds?" I inquired. "Oh, I don't know. It's just that there're so many of them." At Brio, she ate almost none of her chopped house salad
And declined dessert, coffee, but exhorted me to order some Or at least take a bite of, finish, her food, Wanting, desperately, to extend our precious time together,
Which I did, on the drive home, by passing her house, Weaving in and out of lanes webbing her neighborhood. Seated beside me, completely absorbed, she kept exclaiming, "There they are again, everywhere...everywhere!" Suddenly, I knew my mother for who she'd become: A ninety-five-year old baby girl, fascinated by the blurs of her world.
06/12/11 - (3)
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