Adam Blatner

Slight currents of missing this or that, elements of our old home in Sun City, Texas, the singers’ concert, memories of those who we left behind. Nostalgia, slightly. We’re really very happy, but I was reminded of washes of mild emotionality, like lapping waves—noticeable, but not unsettling—of times, places, groups of bygone times. Some were only a year or three long, some were twenty or thirty year stretches. Worthy of poems, were I inclined thus. My forte is more prose.

On an associated note, though, I thought, “That’s it? Fragile wisps of memory?” It could be terribly depressing, but also a hint, indirectly, of the transience of our lives. The dream this morning was of older folks back at my college co-operative dormitory—Cloyne Court north of the University of California, Berkeley. These folks really were never there, but then again, my visit up there a few months ago was also almost a dream, for everything had changed! So memory itself is if not malleable, then changeable.

What’s it all about? Some memories are more vivid than others, and yet not in proportion to the length of time lived at this or that location. Allee’s been getting happier—that’s a benefit. (But she’s such a treasure anyway!)

My life is passing, and I’m whacking away at my last books. The mythic back-ground of this contemplation is that I’m a brain cell of God. Very tiny, but yet not nothing. As Moreno has his version of God say, something like,  “I need all of your help.”