bright sun

First, this was a rough weekend.
I can't say everything I want to say about it, because there are too many things I want to say about it.  Old ghosts put me in a strange place, and I haven't seen my thoughts go flying in so many directions since I was in New York, over twenty years ago.  But this is different.  Different things are in my head now, I've been through things, passed through lots of doors and gone into other forests, and I've been to the river.  Plus, I don't drink.  It all helps.
This morning I was cleaning my parents' bedroom.  My dad is sleeping on the bed with the beagle.  In a short while, his eyes are open.
He says, "Hello, bright sun."
I take off my headphones (Morcheeba, "Enjoy the Ride").  "Huh?"
"Bright sun," he says, it's all so soft.  He says, "You're so dark, I didn't know that, I never saw that before, you're so dark.  Come here," he says.  He is holding up his hand.
I hold up my hand and walk toward him.  The hands are together, and he says, "See? Look at that, just look at that."
I say that I think I have grandpa's color.
He says, "You do, I bet that's it, you do.  That's from the Datkas.  You have their color."
I say, "Datka, huh?" (somehow we're related to Mike Ditka through the Datkas, some misspelling at Ellis Island; Danowski is spelled 7 different ways on the boat records, you can imagine what happens to people who lose their names in a crossing).
He says, "They're the dark ones, and they're also a little bit crazy."
I think this must be good news, somewhere on the ocean, between one world and another, this is comforting.  It's raining, and we're in an ocean.
Before I leave, my mom wants to give me something.  It's a candle holder, it's on a stack of things by the door, things that she thinks I might want or need someday.  But this is important.  It's a wooden base, and a large glass bulb that covers it.  It's something that can hold a candle when you're not at home, if you want to keep a candle burning.  There are lots of things that need candles lately.
Then she goes on to explain how this was from her father, my other grandpa, the Irish one.  My mom wants me to have it, because my grandpa bought it and gave it to her and now it needs to be with me.  He bought it once, in this store, they were all there, him, his wife, my grandmother, and my mom when she was a child.  He wanted it because he liked it.  My grandma didn't want him to spend the money.  But he liked it, and he bought it anyway, so he could give it to my mom.
I don't know why, but it has escape written on it.  Like it's permission, to go to small extremes because it can make something beautiful.  And now it's useful.  And we all just want to be useful.  And small things are beautiful things.  And we can't remember everything, but we have to try, because that's what we're for.   


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