Me and Otto sit together on the sofa, two old guys quietly passing the day.
I read most of the time. Spend some time writing a few short essays, and break now and again to complete a task in the kitchen or somewhere else in the house.
Otto spends his day sleeping, but lifts his head now and again to look at me. He seems to give a slight smile, reassured, I think, to know I am still in my place on the sofa. He enjoys a refreshing drink of water, shares a meal with me, and together we walk the neighborhood at various times during the day.
Otto is an amiable and patient companion. He listens to my comments and observations about neighbors and items in the news. He never objects to the radio programs I choose to listen to or the volume levels I select. He shows a bit of concern if I leave the house, but he always welcomes my return.
Neither of us receive phone calls. I get some mail and some emails, but Otto doesn't receive either. My daughter will send me a text at night, and regularly visits. But it is an honest assessment to say that Otto and I are two old guys that are largely forgotten by the outside world.
That's neither a complaint nor a point of distress. We are not isolated. We are not completely alone, and we enjoy the benefits of our solitude. It is an acknowledgement that we, me more than he, have reached that point in life when we are called upon less, contribute less and noticed less. It's a point we all reach, and one we can either make peace with or not.
Otto and I made peace with that fact long ago.
- Thank you for reading. Your comments and questions are always welcome.
No comments:
Post a Comment