I go home to Pune, filled with wistful anticipation tinged with dread. As we hold hands and walk down the streets we once loved, the changes are all around us.
Longing
The Descent
Today is Thanksgiving, though you wouldn’t guess it from the sterile walls and empty smells. Visiting hours here are from 1:00-2:00 PM every day. Toy Story 3 murmurs in the background as my family and I approach the main desk.
Why Write? Eating Fugu: Getting Texts Completed Despite Local Commotion
It’s not such a wonderful idea to try to prove one’s machismo by eating fugu, i.e. puffer fish, or by lining one’s pockets with the profits of such sales. Firing M-16s on a military base, likewise, can cause harm. More detrimental to one’s well-being, though, is blasting music in an apartment in which a Mama Writer is trying to compose a text.
Just Checking
Probably for the fifth time during the night I check my phone. I haven’t got up to check. I steal a look only because I’ve got up.
The Choir
The composer came to work with the choir before the concert, just for a few days. It wasn’t common: first of all most composers are dead. Then, how likely a living one (being alive and performed isn’t common either) would be in town and show up? Not very. Of course there are helpful circumstances, such as being in a very large town, or preparing a truly glamorous concert. Or, the choir director being one of the composer’s best friends. All that said, the visit still was exceptional – a miraculous blessing.
Searching for Silvio
Two months after my father dies, his older brother Silvio—who my father cherished and promised to take care of after their father died, who looks like my father, and laughs like him—gets married at age 86.