100

The lights are down so low the room might as well be lit by a fireplace, and I can smell the melting snow through the open window. There's no wind on this saturday night, nothing to make the stars move faster.

And you've raised your long black skirt up to your knee, to pull your spike heel boots off, you drop them on the floor with the sound of a car door closing in the desert, keeping us safe from the sand and the falling stars. I love watching you roll your black stocking past your knee, love seeing you cross your bare legs on the bed spread.

And your hair still glitters with the night dew, and you untie the black ribbon from your throat. And the fog is rolling in the window, and your eyes are so wide in the dark.

And now you're sleeping, my flannel shirt reaching almost to your knees. And that secret smile is still on your lips, I wonder what you're dreaming. In a minute I'll turn this machine off and lie down with you, but first I had to write this. According to the counter, this is my 100th blog entry, and I wanted it to be about something really special.

The Last Night Of January

Watching in the warm glow of the salt lamp while Emily sleeps. She's curled up on her side on the bed, hands clasped on her breast like she's saying a prayer, and the softest ghost of a smile is playing on her lips. A minute ago I reached over and took her glasses off her, put them in the desk drawer for safekeeping. She looks so much younger without them. She's wearing one of my t shirts for a night gown, her skirt and sweater are folded over the back of a chair. She's very particular about keeping her clothes neat.

It's one of those nights when you're glad to be inside. Out there it's so cold and dark and brittle, the stars seem almost too close in the clear air. When we came in from walking Casey earlier she unzipped my jacket and hugged me tight, "God Jim, I'm so frickin' cold! Wrap me up in your coat!" I closed it around her and kissed the top of her head and we both laughed at how good it felt to stand there like that, no space and no time between us.

Her lips are moving in her sleep, some dreamy mantra that I'll never hear whispering through her head. When Bobthecat was alive he used to curl up against her stomach at times like this and purr his little head off; I wonder if he's doing that now, beyond my ability to see him. I hope he is.

Winter Night Prayer

Want to walk in the ocean with you again, like we used to do. Back when it was always Saturday and it was always July, and your skin glowed sandy gold in the morning light.

And your eyes were the color of tomorrow, and I could taste the salt water on your lips when we kissed. And you were feeling shy because you'd never worn a two piece before, and I loved walking with my arm around your naked waist.

Want to walk in the ocean with you again, like we used to do. Swimming out past the breakers to where the shore was just a warm dry sliver, and your hair drifted like the ghost of seaweed over your shoulders. Holding hands floating, letting the waves rock us almost to sleep. And we were feeling happy, knowing the bottom was so far beneath us that the sun never reached it.

Want to walk in the ocean with you again, like we used to do. Walking back to the beach kicking up sand and spray in the red evening light. Wrapping my shirt around your wet shoulders, watching you step into your cutoffs. Walking the cool sand with our arms around each other, and we couldn't stop laughing. And we never wasted our time remembering, because it was all still in front of us.

Christmas Night

Emily is sitting cross legged on my bed, one of my copies of A Christmas Carol open in her lap. She's holding a mug of peppermint tea, and her lips move slightly as she reads. The Christmas lights are reflected in her tortoise shell glasses, and a red velvet ribbon holds her long brown hair in a pony tail. She's wearing red flannel pajamas with feet that should look ridiculous, but on her they're adorable.

Our Christmas dinner was spinach pie and falafel with harira soup, and a fresh imported panettone for dessert. We actually ate at the table tonight, instead of sitting on the bed with trays. I cleaned the table off when I put up the Christmas decorations, Emily laughed that it was possibly the first time she'd seen the table top. Casey sat at her feet all through dinner, waiting to lick the soup bowls. He really likes harira a lot.

After dinner we snuggled under my striped quilt and watched The Polar Express. I love the way she squeezes my hand when she gets excited. During the race toward Flattop Tunnel she threw her arms around my neck and just about jumped into my lap while yelling at the boy on the screen to "Get down! Get down!" When she caught herself she turned beet red, covered her face with the quilt to stifle her laughing, then looked up at me sheepishly and said, "God Jim, I'm such a dork! How can you possibly love me?" Em, it's the easiest thing I've done in longer than I can remember....

In a little while we'll take Casey for his last walk of the evening, then we'll fall asleep together under the quilt, her head resting on my shoulder, her hand resting on my heart. It's been a wonderful Christmas.

Last Saturday Night At United Palace

Slow dancing with you on the wildflower carpet while the lightning blazed and the thunder shook the balcony over our heads, turning graceful and slow down the violet hillside into the noise and the sweat, I'll never forget that. The way you danced on tiptoes, arms around my neck, looking up at me with that faerie smile shining through your black lipstick, spinning so light and so free.
And the spotlight glowed on your black satin dress as we danced all alone with the crowd all around us, I was lost in the elf light, lost in the blood tide. And nothing mattered but the warmth of your breath, the black rose tattoo that you had on your cheek. And the only thing I heard over the music were the words that you whispered when you pulled me so close.
When you said, "This is here, this now, this is all. This is all I could wish for, this is all I could need. How did you know how to make me so happy? How do I deserve this? I must be a good girl!" I whispered back, "It's me who's the lucky one. It's me who'll thank God tonight when you've gone to sleep."
And later on, when the night had gone quiet, when the curtain had fallen and the crowd had gone home, I held your hand through the snow showers, walking on air a few inches over Broadway. And it sucked when I had to leave you at Penn Station, put you on the last train to take you away.
And I lay in my bed, replaying the night, reliving the music, reliving your touch. Soon enough darlin', see you real soon.

The Ghost of Thanksgivings Past

Thanksgiving weekend is drifting by in silence like a ghost ship while the sky turns toward winter and Casey sleeps the way only an old dog can sleep. Scelsa is on the radio and the only light in this room is from the art nouveau lamp that Jane gave me for my birthday a million years ago. It's quiet enough that I can hear the stream of time rolling by outside, it sounds like the hiss of cool water on hot dry sand. And I'm thinking back on other times I passed this way, other years and other Novembers....

Like,

1968 in an old house in San Francisco, sitting with our feet up on the porch railing and holding her hand while we passed the bourbon back and forth.

1970 in an old house on a bluff over Seneca Lake, watching the grey clouds kiss the tops of the grey pine trees,while Rachelle slept with her head on my shoulder.

1973 in an old house on the far end of Jane Street near the Hudson River with a red haired girl who was always better than she thought she was.

1974 in the last house by the end of the LaGuardia Airport runway, watching the sunset from the front steps with a brown eyed girl while her six year old daughter played jacks on the sidewalk.

1975 in the Buffalo Road House on Seventh Avenue, with an L.A. girl who was so much farther out of her element than she knew.

1979 watching the parade on tv with a dancer who couldn't believe I bought her a dozen red roses in the middle of winter.

1983 sitting on the roof watching the sunset over the skyline and sharing a bottle with a bitter young artist who had more talent than she knew.

1991 bringing Chinese food to my wife in the hospital after and asthma attack. She never would eat hospital food.

1999 at my aunt's house, the last time she knew who any of us were, before the Alzheimers.

2o02 the last time I saw my sister alive, before she drank herself to death.

And so on. I like it when Thanksgiving's quiet.

Bobthecat

I put Bobthecat to sleep on Wednesday. He'd been slipping for a couple of weeks, so I knew what was coming, but I was still trying hard not to see what was in front of me. Then on Sunday night he came and said his goodbyes to me.

Bob was never hyperaffectionate. He would love to lie next to you and get petted, but he never was one for being picked up or for sitting in a lap. But on Sunday night when I sat down at the computer he stood up from the corner by the air conditioner where he'd been spending most of his time and hopped over to the desk. He rubbed my hand with his face, marking me as his. I skritched him and petted him and he purred and rolled around like a kitten for about fifteen minutes, then he suddenly stood up and went back to his corner and curled up. It was the last time we played together; I'm pretty sure it was his way of saying goodbye.

When I woke up Monday morning he'd retreated to the space behind my desk, curled up under the shopping cart in the corner. I pulled him out and set him next to his breakfast, but he only ate a few bites and went back to sleep.

That was the way of things for the next few days. On Wednesday morning when I picked him up for breakfast he let out a pitiful cry. He wouldn't even look at his food, he just wanted to go back to his corner and be left alone.Bob has lived with me for almost eighteen years and I know his moods as well as I know my own.  I looked in his eyes and I could see he was begging me, "Please Daddy, I'm so tired. Can't I rest now?" Of course you can, Bob. I'm sorry it took me so long to get what you were asking....

I called Jane and asked to borrow her carrier. When she brought it down she took one look at me and offered to go with us. I'll never be able to thank her enough for that. Last year when Missy died it happened late on a Saturday night and the trip home from the hospital was the longest and loneliest I'd ever made.

We walked down to Vinegar Hill together, Bob in the carrier between us, talking about anything but what was going to happen. The day was late summer perfect, the sky achingly blue and clear, the sun so warm. I was glad Bob's last day on earth was such a beautiful one.

In the office Bob lay on a towel on the table in a cool, clean room after the doctor had examined him and explained our options and left us to discuss what we thought was best. Jane stroked his head and I put my hand on his shoulder while we talked, but there was really only one thing to do. Bob had had a great life, and it was time for me to perform one last kindness for him, the last one that's always the hardest one to do. I said to Jane that I knew it was the right thing, because doing it sucked. But I owed it to him, it was the last part of the promise I'd made to him, and to Missy and to Casey, when each one came to live with me. I promised them all that I'd do the best I could for them, give each of them the best life I knew how, and when the time came I'd do what I could to make the end of that life as easy as the end can be.

So Jane petted Bob's head and told him what a beautiful cat he was, and I held onto his shoulder and told him I loved him, while Dr. Neuman gave him first the valium shot that put him into a deep sleep, then the injection that stopped his heart and his breathing. He breathed out one last time and slipped out of his old tired pained body like the first soft breeze on a spring morning, into a better day.

I closed his eyes, and folded the towel over him even though he was no longer there, and that body on the table was just a beautifully still and silent reflection of the life it once held in it. Bobthecat, my gentle, playful, silly, loving chow hound of a cat, had already left the building. But even so, I patted his shoulder and whispered, "I'll see you later."

Jane and I walked back along Front Street holding hands, squinting in the bright afternoon sun, the empty carrier hanging weightless on my shoulder. The warmth of her hand in mine reminded me of life all around us, life still restless and always full of light and sound and feeling. When we got home Casey told us he wanted to go for his walk, now, and life had taken over again.

But later that evening I sat out on the front steps watching the stars and the clouds and enjoying the cool breeze, and I felt Bob's soul out there. He was dancing in the clouds,running and playing fast and easy, with no pain at all. He just wanted to let me know how good he was feeling. Then he was gone, and the night was just the night. And life was waiting, for me, for Casey, for Jane.