Mother, who is seventy-eight years old, five foot, and ninety pounds, reported her day's doings with nervous energy as she rocked in her little cherry rocker (actually mine, on loan) and gave accounts of how Sister's pet, Trooper, an aged Jack Russell Terrier, had done this or that. There were also reports on Tweetie, Sister's quarter horse, which has been a resident of Mother's front pasture for over twenty years, and the deaf, nearly blind, American Bulldog, Joe-Joe-the third generation of his family to greet all who come into his domain, my sister's place. Sister lives a football field distance from Mother.
Joe-Joe is still a great watchdog, even deaf and mostly blind. His infirmities have not substantially diminished his skills or professionalism. Like his dad and granddad he has always known me, no matter how much time passes between visits. I suppose they know I'm blood by my smell.
Mother and Sister blossomed where they were planted and have network upon network of relationships: blood and deep friendships. Their garden of friendship is bountiful and extensive. Though Sister had traveled a lot, she had not ventured far and wide to live and work as I had. Mother's greatly reworked, somewhat off balance farmhouse had not been my residence for nearly forty years. It is amazing that four people once lived in that small, small house. Daddy died in 1975 of a bad heart. He was fifty-one years old.
I'd survived three deaths because of today's magic in coronary care, and he died without it. It is remarkable to me that I am six years older now than he was when he died. It is utterly surprising how memories and images become vivid when the thoughtless rush of living is converted to a deep attentive thankfulness for tentatively being alive. Yes, knocking at eternity's door-three times-helps one think about what really matters.
The treasure then is not things but thoughts, memories, ideas, and passionate appreciations. It is just as well since my things, both money and possessions are meager, very meager. Otherwise I'm excessively wealthy!
***
Normally I dream maybe a couple of nights a week. On this visit to the home of my high school and college years, dreams were very numerous, providing nights of fast paced and powerful 'entertainment' worthy of HBO. Each night was an extensive adventure tour in the mystical nocturnal dimension.
The first night, my dreams revisited my pre-dawn audience at the pool hall with Mr. Jones. I was flustered on remembering that one of the strong dream sequences that night vividly recalled my unrequited teenage love. It was in color and felt so very real.