A picture of my Grandfather
I don't think anyone ever took a picture of this, but I can still see it vividly in my mind.
It's morning in Mountain Home, Arkansas, and my grandfather is sitting in a metal lawn chair in the backyard at 529 East 6th Street, a cup of coffee beside him on the table. He's bent over, his elbows resting just above his knees, hands loosely clasped, a cigarette in one hand, looking intently at... what? A blade of grass? A point in mid-air?
I caught myself in just that position (sans cigarette) today.
I used to wonder what that was all about.
I'm pretty sure I understand now.
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Know the feeling. Just sitting there, not really looking at anything, deep in thought, just wondering about the meaning of it all...
Of course, I am usually avec cigarette. C'est trais malheureusment.
When my older son catches me staring off into space, he likes to remind me that it will get worse as I get older. I retaliate by reminding him that when he sees me, he's looking at his genetic future.