Sitting in the car on a rainy afternoon. Jazz on the radio, old school. 91.1 FM, KCSM (the “CSM” stands for College of San Mateo). Smooth groove, easy on ears, heart, soul, purring, pouring out the jam.
The rain water collects on the windows, tap tap tap it falls, beads, drips down.
This place, a special park, a place to rest, to remember, to listen, to think.
Remembering my old man today, many days this way, all of us the same I bet, in this way. Those who have lost loved ones, recalling, wishing there’d been a little more time. Never enough time.
Gentle gusts of wind rustle through the trees, branches sway to and fro. Easy, smooth, Soto, Short, Challen engraved on stones across the way. So many others here too.
Dad’s here too now, on the wall, a little niche, nice for us, for me, a spot to rest, easy to get to, in between.
Nice to take a little time, for him, for me. Recharged and ready again to go again. A little rest, then forward again.
And that Jazz music?
All GOOD. Howie GOOD.