February
February is the manic-depressive of all months. First of all, it doesn't even have a set number of days; every four years the Romans added an extra day. And, yet, it still comes up short. Even at 29 days it is still the shortest month of the year. Plus, it comes after January, after we've toughened up and February's cold and freezing weather no longer shocks and surprises. Just get us to March and we'll be ready to forgive and forget everything that's transpired in February.
February is often the month when Lent begins and you have that weird cross-over from Fat Tuesday to Ash Wednesday.
February is also the month where Crosby's birthday falls even though we are all supposed to behave as though it is just an ordinary day.
In short, it's a month designed to make everyone jump the shark in one form or another. Yesterday, the temperature hovered around 50 degrees and, like a homing pigeon, I took off for Flushing. The trip was made trickier because the train routes have changed slightly since Mom passed away. It's actually quicker than it used to be. So long as I remember not to stay on the Q train.
I knew I wouldn't be able to hang around the actual building. Technically, without a relative to visit, I'm no better than a trespasser. But, I thought I could buy my usual chicken sandwich at McDonald's and sit on the bus stop bench for a while.
It's the oddest thing. Even though I know in my head that there is no reason to hurry, that Mom is not due for a bath or a diaper change. That the door to her room will not be closed while they put her to bed, the urge to take as many shortcuts as necessary to get there "on time" kicks in almost immediately. I cannot wait the fifteen minutes it will take for my regular bus to arrive so, I retraced my steps back to the main boulevard just in time to spot another bus already taking on passengers. It will leave me about a mile from the nursing home, but, I'm happy to at least be making forward progress.
Bitter-sweet memories confront me at every turn, just as I knew they would. When did that grocery store burn down? Wasn't it about this time last year? I searched the Building Department posters adorning the wooden fencing, but, they didn't offer any clues. Wasn't it on Ash Wednesday? And, didn't I leave Mom's bedside that day in order to receive ashes at a local Catholic Church? I seem to recall that was almost exactly a year ago.
One of these days, I will track down the journal entries from that week and try to piece it together. As for now, the memories were coming fast and furious. Shouldn't I be seeing the nursing home roof right about now? No. That's a different route. I remembered experimenting with different bus stops before settling on the one at Willets Point Boulevard. It was deceptive because it cut diagonally the entire way, as evidenced by all the traffic triangles at each intersection. It made crossing the streets trickier but also made the walk shorter.
Before long, I could practically smell the acrid mix of urine and ammonia that would soon singe my nose hair as I emerged from the elevator on Mom's floor. That was when I had to remind myself that Mom was dead, that this was only a visit to an out of the way McDonald's and that I probably shouldn't tell anybody I'm behaving this way.
February is often the month when Lent begins and you have that weird cross-over from Fat Tuesday to Ash Wednesday.
February is also the month where Crosby's birthday falls even though we are all supposed to behave as though it is just an ordinary day.
In short, it's a month designed to make everyone jump the shark in one form or another. Yesterday, the temperature hovered around 50 degrees and, like a homing pigeon, I took off for Flushing. The trip was made trickier because the train routes have changed slightly since Mom passed away. It's actually quicker than it used to be. So long as I remember not to stay on the Q train.
I knew I wouldn't be able to hang around the actual building. Technically, without a relative to visit, I'm no better than a trespasser. But, I thought I could buy my usual chicken sandwich at McDonald's and sit on the bus stop bench for a while.
It's the oddest thing. Even though I know in my head that there is no reason to hurry, that Mom is not due for a bath or a diaper change. That the door to her room will not be closed while they put her to bed, the urge to take as many shortcuts as necessary to get there "on time" kicks in almost immediately. I cannot wait the fifteen minutes it will take for my regular bus to arrive so, I retraced my steps back to the main boulevard just in time to spot another bus already taking on passengers. It will leave me about a mile from the nursing home, but, I'm happy to at least be making forward progress.
Bitter-sweet memories confront me at every turn, just as I knew they would. When did that grocery store burn down? Wasn't it about this time last year? I searched the Building Department posters adorning the wooden fencing, but, they didn't offer any clues. Wasn't it on Ash Wednesday? And, didn't I leave Mom's bedside that day in order to receive ashes at a local Catholic Church? I seem to recall that was almost exactly a year ago.
One of these days, I will track down the journal entries from that week and try to piece it together. As for now, the memories were coming fast and furious. Shouldn't I be seeing the nursing home roof right about now? No. That's a different route. I remembered experimenting with different bus stops before settling on the one at Willets Point Boulevard. It was deceptive because it cut diagonally the entire way, as evidenced by all the traffic triangles at each intersection. It made crossing the streets trickier but also made the walk shorter.
Before long, I could practically smell the acrid mix of urine and ammonia that would soon singe my nose hair as I emerged from the elevator on Mom's floor. That was when I had to remind myself that Mom was dead, that this was only a visit to an out of the way McDonald's and that I probably shouldn't tell anybody I'm behaving this way.