Spirits At 477 Oak Street Seven spirits sang though I did not hear their song in the eleven years we raised a family in the turn-of-century house at the top of the second hill on Oak Street Once I may have heard voices coming from the kitchen though I have conveniently forgotten. It is the numbers that intrigue me: seven spirits, 11 years, address number 4-7-7 I learned new awareness there though I did not know the ghosts when my sense of family values were spirited away in disarray. On midnight walks with the dog God entered through my wounds Old ghosts of hope and loss and joy followed me down the stairs in the wee hours past midnight on moving day Unexplained sobs of loss and grief and leaving something of myself behind followed as I drove away Did the ghostly presences in that house add to our demise? Heavy energy, lethargy, a possible suicide presence not set free? Eleven years, seven spirits, top of the second hill - 477 Oak Street The Best Thing... The best thing I did tonight was to read from a volume of poetry the poet's words preserving and rekindling images of his once present moments - the doodle of a biker with hair blowing in the wind and speed lines added to show movement through time about which the poet elaborated with further imagery while riding on a train past pastures of grazing cows and fields of hay wound into bales Or perhaps the best thing I did tonight was to read from the First Epistle of John about how love and fear cannot co-exist or perhaps it was another writer's canvass upon which he painted a North Dakota town with cars angle-parked on Main Street where children shivered in their towels and left wet footprints walking from the swimming pool on a Sunday afternoon and that same writer recounting the history of one Lawrence Welk who began his legendary entertainment career by experimenting with the family accordian while recovering from an appendectomy in that town Maybe the best thing I did tonight was simply to be present at my daughter's sixth grade softball game - to comfort her when she made a third out by running forward instead of back after a fly ball had been caught - her team won anyway - and then we ate at Steak 'n Shake - just the two of us Or it could be that equally best things I did tonight included picking up the 15-year-old from his friend's house at 11 or still being up at 1 a.m. to congratulate my oldest son on his most profitable night of pizza delivery tips. Or maybe the best thing I have done tonight is simply lying here naked between the dark blue sheets writing and feeling like my recent depression has lightened a little. And I am required to turn the page to continue doodling the speed lines of my passage here. This Oldest One I worry about this oldest one tonight, not yet home from work - he has classes tomorrow morning, "I don't live here anymore" he said awhile back when I suggested he refold the daily papers he scatters across the dining room table checking classifieds for cars or better jobs - and doing crossword puzzles. "I just have my stuff here," he huffed. I wonder, did he find the city hall recently moved, in the municipality where he apparently got another ticket? "That was the letter from the attorney," he said. "I have to pay court costs by Monday." Today was Monday - back before midnight. I hadn't asked about the letter I didn't ask about the ticket He said he may need to borrow when his credit card is due. "We'll look at that tomorrow," I replied. I worry about this oldest one so cynical, angry, defiant or depressed yet bright and multi-talented with technology, words, tools, and gifts of art and music I rarely see him use. Our logics - his and mine have conflicted for half his life at least - his rants repel my listening - but not my caring. I listen now for sound of door or creakings of his movements If I sleep before I hear I'll look out the window when my bladder wakes me crossing the hall to peer in the dark for the white of his car on the black tarmac of driveway He has the temperament of his mother - no longer living here. But people say he looks like me and I suspect our longings, our dreamings, are not that different his and mine I worry about this oldest one who believes his logic trumps the standard rule of law And I hope to love enough to let him learn on his own the lessons life will teach him Main Page This site sponsered by