original post: Tuesday, August 17, 2010
It started as an unconscious homage to Florence. During the hot days, she'd, like many of our neighbors, prop open her front door and let whatever breeze existed waft in from the stairwell's window. With so many opened doors our different lives would also drift up and down the stairs.
One night during a non-stop heat wave, I opened the door and a breeze blew in and as it came in, the cat ran out, the cool of 100 year old marble floors and walls too much to resist. And soon that door, like Florence's, stayed open as he and I in the middle of the night wandered the stairs, listened to our neighbors sleep, hummed along with all the air conditioners in the air shaft and sat in the still and the silence.
I miss the normalcy of open doors during hot days and when my door is closed because the neighbors are awake, I miss my mother.
Peoria, I Hardly Knew Ye, Part Six: Mrs. Christenson • By Jaws The Cabbie A.K.A. James Newberg - *I'll be 59-years-old this coming August. *I am a creature of the late 20th century for the most part, and I'm now spending the remainder of my life tryi...
1 hour ago