Rainy days and Mondays

Monday, December 30, 2019

It’s a rainy day, and Monday, and the last Monday of the last month of the last year of the decade, a scary concept since I once thought making it merely to the year 2000 would be an accomplishment. Now, we are edging into the twenties, marking the centennial of those members of my family that predated my uncles and aunts, yet whom I managed to meet before they passed off this mortal coil.

This idea that we have transitioned into another decade scares me a little, and adds to the blue mood I feel with the cold rain pelting at my window.

The outside cat we call “Tiger Kitty Brother” came into the mudroom to get out of the rain and I sat up with him for a while, feeling chilly, but in that sense I used to get sitting on the front porch of the old house in Clifton when I was out of the rain, but still being touched by it.

We made our way to Asbury Park again this weekend, wasted a lot of time between dinner and when we actually were to see the band, and though the band was good, we were too tired to stay for more than one set – a certain sign of our getting old, as was having to listen to the kids around us – me wondering if I sounded as stupid at that age as they do. One woman and three guys behind us was particularly silly, the three guys all trying to get her, only have her take off with a fourth man.

I guess the three guys were good enough to buy her drinks, but not good enough to go home with.

On Saturday, we had breakfast at Franks, read the story posted about Springsteen, then took our stroll down the board walk, where a footrace has just concluded, before we made our way back to the car. We drove south along Ocean Avenue until it stopped near Belmar, and then drove home.

Everywhere were signs of the old days, changing, rust settling on things that had seemed fresher when I made my way through these streets many years ago. I kept thinking of my family, and how this had been such a big part of their lives, and the century in which they came south when it was still just a location for summer resorts, crabbing in the bays, swimming in the ocean, buying fruit from highway stands that have since ceased to exist.

They are all gone, the family, and I carry these memories around with me as I drive, and memories that aren’t even my memories of a time when things seem much more simple, and how we could still get lost on these highways (lacking GPS to steer us home) and how we really didn’t mind, as long as we came in out of the rain at the end.