Spent yesterday in Real City, buying books — new and used — for myself and the Spawn, and having dinner with commenter Pondering Pilgrim. While I was at the Frappuccino Preserve yesterday afternoon, I glanced up and my father walked across my line of sight.
Except it wasn’t, of course. Dad looked like a lot of guys over the course of his life, from Kenny Rogers in the 70s and 80s, through hints of Larry Niven in the late 90s to Sean Connery-cum-Santa in his last years. In some respects, then, it wasn’t that remarkable. And certainly, when Dad was alive, we spent enough time hanging around bookstores — a gift card to the local preserve was what he wanted for every holiday. But once again, I felt like reality had slipped slightly from its axis, snapping back into place less than a second later.
This morning, as I listened to Breakfast with the Beatles, Chris Carter played Gorge Harrison’s song, “All Things Must Pass.” I listened, and thought of yesterday. Because I believe what I believe, I am certain that some passages are transitory, and I wonder if moments like the one I had yesterday aren’t subtle expressions of that. In turn, I was reminded of still another favorite song of mine — Translator’s “Everywhere That I’m Not”. Like the speaker in the song, I’m learning that the lingering effects of loss appear in the most surprising places.