I decided to call this
piece A Day in April and so, as Im an old, very old, English
major, the first thing that popped into my mind was the first line of T.S.
Eliots poem, The Wasteland, which is April is the
cruelest month. I dont know that this will have anything to do with
what Im writing but there, its out of the way. As it happens, I was
reading a book about four writers, one of whom was Eliot, whod set the
tone for modern literature in the 1920s. Old English majors read books
like that.
Im a retiree but
dont get the idea that I sit around reading books all day. Id
thought that once Id retired, which is now some years ago, I would do a
lot of reading but somehow this hasnt happened. Its amazing how
much time you have to spend doing the things that occur during the ordinary
course of the day when youre retired and especially when youre old
and retired. First, theres the chore of getting out of bed and overcoming
the stiffness that sets in overnight. My wife Sally and I usually get up around
the same time and, once out of bed and finished in the bathroom, theres
the morning regimen of pill-taking, which takes up quite a bit of time. Then
theres the preparation of breakfast, usually cold cereal, but
theres the slicing up strawberries and other fruit to go into it as this
is supposed to be beneficial for seniors. After breakfast Sally takes up her
iPad and plays word games on it. I go to our patio, enclosed, so its a
sun room when its sunny, with my coffee and do the New York Times
crossword puzzle, the only reason for getting our local newspaper, which, in
the past few years, has been reduced to half its size while its cost has about
doubled. Then theres more bathroom business and getting dressed and by
this time the morning is at least half gone.
Sally and I live in a
retirement community; its in Northern California just outside of the
state capital, Sacramento. The community has a Lodge which is the center of its
activities and nearby a nature area with a circular walking path. April in the
Sacramento Valley is a chancy month for weather but on this April Sunday the
sun was out and the sky was a cloudless blue so after the mornings
activities I told Sally I was going for a walk in the park. I put on my
windbreaker and took my walking stick, not a cane, as I always tell people.
Ive been using the walking stick for many years, even before my hip
replacement surgery, which was three years ago, and definitely after it.
Id recently had another surgery, to have my dead gall bladder removed,
and this would be my first walk since then. My plan was to go around the
circular walking path, then return home to have lunch, read the Sunday Times
and then, finally, resume reading the book about Eliot and the other three
writers while possibly listening to some music. Id discovered that I
could get just about any piece of music I wanted by Googling You Tube on my
iPad but somehow never did this very often. So, an afternoon spent reading and
listening to good music.
Im usually the
only person on the walking path except when I meet the bird lady or someone
walking a dog. The bird lady, as I think of her, is a woman of about 50 who
lives in our community and gets around in a motorized scooter (something
Ive thought about for myself, in the future, not now). She has a knack of
spotting birds, which I hear but never can see, and takes pictures of them
which she posts on Facebook. Shes a nice lady and after weve
exchanged greetings and a few words she always wishes me a nice day.
On this walk I had an
odd encounter. There are three benches on the walking path. I usually sit on
two or all three as I make my way around. Going to one of the benches I passed
a family, husband, wife and two small children, having a picnic in the grass
along the path. Id never seen anyone doing this before. I was sitting on
the bench when the father Id seen came up and said hello. He looked at my
Nike shoes and asked if I played tennis. I told him I used to. He told me
hed played tennis in high school and a little in college but wasnt
playing now; the two kids took up a lot of time. He didnt live in the
retirement community of course but nearby. I told him about a couple of
tennis clubs and a park where tennis players gathered. Somehow we got around to
my two surgeries and he asked if he could bless me. I asked if he was a pastor.
He said No, but he believed in Jesus. I said Okay. He asked if he could put his
hand on me. Sure. He said something like he hoped Id recover from my
surgeries and be able to walk as Id used to. Then we shook hands and he
returned to his family. I walked to the end of the path, hobbled along with my
walking stick as before.
When I returned home,
later than Id thought as a result of my odd encounter, I had lunch and
spent the next two hours plowing through the many sections of the Times. It was
time to take up my book and listen to music. Instead I fell asleep in my chair;
I suppose the walk and the Times reading had exhausted me. I looked at my watch
and it was too late to do anything except prepare for Sunday dinner. Then it
would be time to watch the Sunday TV shows, the TV powers that be having
decided to place any decent show on that night. Id have to postpone my
reading and listening to music until the next day.
The next morning after
breakfast I had a nagging feeling there was something I had to do and I
realized that April was tax month and I had to mail in my taxes in the next few
days. No, I might be old and forgetful but I hadnt put off doing my taxes
until the last minute. Id already done most of my tax work; I just had to
review it and then write out the necessary checks. But this wasnt as easy
as it might sound. First, I had to find my tax folder, which was in my desk
where it should be. Then I had to find the forms and put them in order. I did
have the forms and envelopes for the federal taxes, but the State doesnt
send forms and envelopes so I had to print out several things on my computer
and unearth the envelopes. While doing all this, I wondered if T.S. Eliot had
in the back of his mind when he still lived in the United States the ordeal of
dealing with taxes when he wrote April is the cruelest month. I
didnt think so but it certainly applied.
At any rate, writing
the proper checks and getting them ready to mail to the IRS so they
wouldnt penalize me took up the rest of the morning. Then came the
business of putting stamps and return address labels on envelopes. I took
everything down to the mailbox, but, as I might have known, this was the one
day that the mail had been delivered early. I didnt want to leave my
checks to the IRS in the mail box overnight because we had mailbox thieves
whod broken into one just a few weeks before. So I put everything on the
kitchen counter to remind me to mail them the next morning. It was time for
lunch, a late one.
After lunch, I repaired
to my bedroom chair and watched the news on TV. It was the usual depressing
stuff and what it said about the governments latest antics made it even
harder to stomach sending my money to the clowns in Washington. But I supposed
I better had. The house was quiet. Sally had gone to lunch with one of her
ladies groups. I realized that now was the time. I could read my book
about T.S. Eliot and the other writers. I could listen to music. I reflected on
the day before, when Id been blessed. It was unlikely that Id ever
be able to walk any better, no matter how sincere that fellow was. But maybe I
was blessed to have survived my two surgeries and still be ambulatory. I found
my book and hit the You Tube app on my iPad. Reading and listening to good
music.