Steel Drums

My stressed brain is playing tricks on me – I left my keys at work last night, and my phone at home today. I got to Dad’s and, having no keys, had to ring the doorbell. I knew Dad wouldn’t buzz me in, but I figured he’d come down to let me in, hopefully wearing clothes. He never appeared, so I settled down with my book to wait for a neighbor to come along. When I finally got upstairs (I had the apartment key on a separate set), I found Dad sitting on a dining room chair he’d pulled into the kitchen, using his pedal device to exercise his knees. “I hope that wasn’t you ringing and ringing,” he said.

Dad and I are discussing the floods in North Dakota. “That’s a very, very leaky place,” he says. I’ve discovered that the Times web site has little video “articles” – the audio is great for the blind, and the short length makes it possible for Dad to concentrate on them and not lose track of what’s going on.

Dad and I are talking about his relationships to cats. “You used to play with the cats at my house,” I tell him. “You even built a little house for stray cats in the backyard.” “I did?” “Yes, it was insulated and everything.” “I built things?” “Yes, you built bookshelves at my house, and you built the ones you’re sitting in front of right now.” “I did? Where are they?” He gets up and goes over to inspect the bookshelves. “I built these? You’re kidding.” When I finally convince him that he really did build them, he says, “I must’ve had a secret life.”

After Kristen ate her cat food tonight, she headed back to her spot on the couch and Dad commented “She’s back on the shelf.”

“I’ve made a number of really messy messes,” says Dad, gingerly reaching for his cup. “First I tip over one thing, and then I tip another, and ooof, what a mess.”

I joined in with Dad’s tapping again tonight – he had started with his hands, and then his feet started, too, so I joined in, and once again, we stopped at the same moment, and Dad laughed. I think it makes him feel connected when I do that. We have always had a strange kind of connection. When I was in high school, he went to parent-teacher night and freaked out my English teacher by sitting in my exact seat, apparently just by chance.

Since he was in a rhythmic mood, I got out his steel drum. “Can you play actual songs on that thing?” he asked, so I hammered out “Twinkle, Twinkle” to show that it’s possible. After we finished with the drum, I put on his “Steel Drum Party” cd, which he didn’t remember, and we danced to it, Dad dancing with his legs and his head from the rocker, and me on the couch with a lapful of elderly cat. The cat was uncertain about the dancing – she dug her claws in for extra security, but then purred anyway.