Here’s to Dad’s chair and to those who have sat here . . .
That is the first thing this morning that brought tears. I have already stated that they were not tears of mourning, not sadness nor loss nor lament. Instead, they were tears of gratitude. Here is how I began my morning, in Dad’s chair, after that hour of paralysis:
That is my reading for today, and I insert it in full because it is complete from beginning to end. So, tears of gratitude simply flowed.
Next came some tears of joy as I walked away from a certain place in Milwaukie, a place to which I will return in the near future. And I will leave it, and return many times.
Then some brief tears came as I walked into a coffee shop, a different one from usual, and it felt sorta like home. And the barista, who actually lives above the shop, made a fine London Fog prepared with some fairly highfalutin tea. And I said, “Undertow?”, and she nodded yep I can do that. Okay, I will bring my own glass, and I will see you again. Gratitude, straight-up.
Ugh, (or yea!), some more tears came, almost imperceptibly, when my friends Troy and Heidi joined me later back at the usual coffee shop, and Troy lingered as we spoke of mysterium convivium and the basic tenets of Christianity with a little Bible talk too. Dang, then the tears were “percepted”, so I just let them go and Troy wanted a hug. I imagine it looked like a youngish giant Sequoia tree hugging an older (wiser he says, not me) weeping willow. Humility? Probably not, but a kind of confirmation with dispelled hesitance and light notes of doubt.
Tears came too, at other times during the day, but I cannot allow them to tear at me any longer.
Besides, I still have walking-under-the-elm-tree tears, and passing-Persephone tears, and laundry-stain tears, even parking-meter tears once. Weird.
There’s my timer. Laundry’s done. Gotta go. See ya later.
Photograph “Tears: on a sliding scale” © 2018 Timothy Waugh