Adventure 437: The Story of George, 14

February 4, 2018

Real time for George continues  to amaze. We visited just about dinner time last night. George told us all about Masaki's visit. He knew what Masaki did for work; he remembered what Mitzki was doing in Japan. He told us about the boys' father, Yoshki. In short, he remembered the whole visit. He forgot to take his night pills, though. But clearly there's hope for him to maintain some level of functional cognition. My Judy thought he had quite the sparkle in his eyes. She guessed that George had gotten a few smooches that afternoon. Anyway, Vina was complaining (lightly) that he'd interrupted her nap. I think it's safe to say that life is good for George, especially yesterday.

George was quite the car guy in his younger years. I remember he had this 1956 Lincoln Continental. It was painted metallic gtayish-green with white leather interior, and it had electric windows, which of course we were told not to play with. I remember this car especially because I was about five years old when my mom's mother died. We piled into the Lincoln and mom raced up the hill to the Lewiston Orchards. I can still feel the lean of the suspension as she took the corners at speed. There were no seat belts in those days, and certainly no child seats. I was tossed like a rag doll from one side of the back seat to the other. I had to tuck and roll just to prevent myself from smashing up against the arm cushions on either side of the car. We screeched to a stop in a cloud of dust that rose up from the dirt road in front of my grandparent's shack. I stood at the back window of the car looking at my grandparent's house as the dust settled. Sometime later mom came out and tearfully took me in to see "Grandma". Her lifeless body lying prone on the table is another indelible memory in my collection. Here rugged face was calm, her plain print dress was smoothed nicely over her, and her high top leather shoes, still scuffed, pointed gently outward. All of my aunties were there, huddled like sparrows. They were crying. Grandpa Ruden sat stoically in his chair, his chin resting on his fist, like Rodan's thinker. he made no sound; he shed no tears. No telling where George was that day. Best case, he was working, Worst case, who knows?

Not the exact car, but one just like George's. Quite the sleek automobile.