• Richard Scrimger

what the wild waves are saying


I've been away from the computer for a few days, unpacking boxes of books while waiting for the Bell people to sort out my phone line, so I didn't realize until now that the picture of George Eliot's Romola did not come out. Sorry, you guys. I'll try again.


Had a sentimental moment, the last night at the old place. Ed and I were together, the others already in the new place. As I took one last look round the empty rooms, and remembered the time the furnace didn't work, and the time the window sill broke, and the time the raccoon got in, and various other times, I was caught up in a moment of finality. Hey, Ed, I said. You want to go for one last walk? One of my favorite memories of the place is getting up early and going for a walk, just the two of us, past the Old Folks' Home and hospital and water tower and WalMart. We'd always go the same way, hopping the fence at the home and cutting back behind the industrial mall (ah, such scenery! That part of Cobourg is like a postcard, I tell you). Anyway, I fancied one last walk for sentiment's sake, but Ed said, Nah. I'm hungry.


I was reminded of a moment years ago, watching a Dickens movie with my parents. Both of them began sniffing and choking up as the oh so typical crippled saintly child coughs and sickens, but my brother and I could hardly restrain our giggles. You guys are so callous, my parents complained. Sentiment, I realize now, is a province full of old people. It's not that the young are callous -- but they do not, most of them, have the same sense of loss. When the dog dies, or the best friend moves away, the child is sad pure and simple. But the misty weepy semi-sadness of the tides of life washing over us and leaving us behind -- that's a grown-up thing.


Fair enough, I said to Ed. Let's eat. Then we can start putting away books. But, you know, I think I'll take that walk, one of these days, and see if I can work up a sniff or two.


I don't know how I'd react to Smike or Little Paul today. Gosh, I hope I'd still giggle.


It's been a very Victorian couple of posts here. Remind me to tell you about the clown porn lady. Is my face ever red now.

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Richard Scrimger | scrimgerr@gmail.com | Toronto, ON, Canada