Sunday, January 27, 2008

Jewish Doctors, Rodeos, and Lovers...


The run this morning was fantastic - it is about 50 degrees here, and clear - and when the cars are not fouling the downtown air, you can actually smell the coffee roasting at the Maxwell House plant, and the wind off the river has a cleansing effect...

Friday night we had one of those long nights, where the red wine tastes better, the food is delicious and the music is just loud enough to make you think about what they are saying. I started to head home, but my dad lives downtown in an old Victorian they bought for $17,000 (plus the cost of the tear down lien) and rebuilt about ten years ago. I love the house, the kitchen always has a biscuit or a cold soda, the wine rack is full of choices, and the leather chairs are always comfortable, and at any time of day, seem to be occupied by a strange collection of folks that gravitate downtown (and to Carol's kitchen) for a hot cup of coffee, and some relaxed conversation. I always feel closer to those that I miss when I sit in that house next to my dad...

Friday night was no exception - it was midnight, and I called, and of course, he was awake- this time (and for the next three months) - Dr. Leffler is staying with them - now if there was a perfect image of the Jewish doctor - he is it, a happy wise man who was both my dad's doctor and my doctor as a little boy - now, he is just a wonderful friend, and when you talk with him, you can tell he is genuinely concerned about you, and holds nothing against you. He did say I needed to work through some of my michigas, but hey, who knows any old jewish doc who does not say that...

Anyway - my dad gave me a photograph, an amazing old photo - here it is....



It speaks for itself - the strong arms, the determination in jawline, the horse struggling against his legs- it makes me proud to see him fight - and let's me know where I came from....

I guess even more importantly, it touched me in a strange way - it brought back images of eyes that I can't be too sure of their color, and hair fine and spun soft, and a face that was inviting and welcoming, but had some sense of longing to it that I could not really place, but I knew it was there. That's the great thing about pictures - and words - I remember a person like that, and now am working to see it again, but it is touching and wonderful to look into a memory, and know that those days never left - in my dad's somewhat older and more frail body now, I know that the strength he shows on that bronco is still there, and that the fight burns on. He is never going to be thrown, and I feel the same way - my pictures certainly are not of rodeo or cowboys - they are different images - but they still bring back the same feelings of times when I felt I belonged in that place, and of people who were meant to be there with me....

Until next time - have a wonderful Sunday...(I think I am going to listen to old Johnny Cash albums, and see what Sunday Morning Coming Down feels like this morning...)

George

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