9 or 10 pieces of gravel

When I got here today, Dad was in the grip of another strange idea. He told me “I suddenly realized that two or three people make the rounds of the big cities and cut people off. They tend to wait until someone is busy and then, bang, they do it in less than five minutes, less than two minutes.” At first, I had no idea what he was talking about, but then I realized that it was about his vision – the idea that someone shut off his vision. “They watch every god-damn thing and the first thing I knew they were doing my – they didn’t even tell me, and I can’t do anything and I can’t see anything. The thing is, I would be able to function if I had that but I don’t have it, they take it away. How many people deserve all - it’s a hell of a lot of people that have that and then they take it away. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’m not. I watched the guy do it, you know, I was doing something else. He didn’t ask me anything or anything else. Maybe I’m going crazy.” “I’ve never heard of anything like that,” I said, gently. Suddenly, the topic changed; “Most people get their nails clipped and that’s that. Thousands and thousands of people have their nails clipped every so often.” Then he seemed to realize, maybe by saying the words out loud, that his thoughts weren’t making sense. “Now,” he said, “it doesn’t seem quite right to me.” “I think you kind of dreamed that,” I offer, using the word he used for his previous hallucination.

I have gotten a new bed for Dad’s cat, to replace the daybed that she loves but we’re having taken back to Gloucester. “Did you ever have a cat?” Dad asks me. “I have 14 cats.” Dad clutches his head. “That’s right,” he says, “I’m going crazy.”

His cat comes up to us and clearly wants something. “I think she wants some food,” I tell Dad. “That’s right. Number one is always number one, he says. “Food. Food. Food.”

Dad is thinking about our house in Gloucester, wondering how much the “9 or 10 pieces of gravel and the house” are worth. The “gravel” he refers to is actually various plots of land surrounding the house, most of it covered in woods these days. Since they were all originally separate pieces of land, they all have separate deeds, and therefore separate tax bills, which is a major pain. Next time I’m in Gloucester I should go to City Hall and beg them to consolidate these bills.

Just as Dad is sitting down in his rocker, I sneeze. Dad thinks the timing is hilarious and laughs and laughs.

“Someone different is supposed to come tomorrow,” says Dad as I’m getting ready to leave. “John Henry,” I remind him. “Henry! Oh, I know him.”