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May 26, 2001
For the Rest of Your Life
Rain. The neighborhood is slowly floating by and thank God I'm behind on a project this weekend so I have to work which means I can sit at my desk and ignore work and watch people instead.
There's an old man, he's slowly dying, I think. Or at least his legs are going. He used to come out pretty much every day, tinker on his cars, even get dressed up and drive his taxicab once in a while when he got called for a fare. His legs would twist almost backwards, like a flamingo's, when he tried to walk, yet he managed, albeit slowly. Now the cab is gone and he's got crutches. He's not out much. He hobbles across the yard once or twice a week, and he pops his other car's hood, looks at it for a while, closes it, and goes back inside.
Then the other day, some young, fratlike guy was sitting in his car, looking like he'd had better days. A girl-next-door type appeared on the other side of the street, walking home from the metro, tired, and the guy opened his door and got out, carefully avoiding sudden moves. She looked up, seeing him, slowed down, her mouth reaching out a little, as if she wanted more air. And I looked at the phone, pictured myself dialing 9-1-1, waiting for the gun to come out of the right pocket of his leather jacket. But he never revealed his hands, just talked to her, gently it seemed, but for a very very long time. I kept going outside to drop something in the recycling bin but their voices were too muffled for me to hear anything. A half hour later, when I went outside yet again, they'd both disappeared, and the car was gone.
And then there was the time when I happened to look outside for one second and a kid wearing a fez on top of a friar's outfit calmly walked by.
If you can see this much in a pretty dull neighborhood, imagine your days if you could park yourself on the edge of a boardwalk... somewhere, somewhere interesting. Drink in hand and your chair a captain's cockpit, the better to survey the alien land opening itself up for you.
Well, that's not going to happen for a while.
We went to Lewes for our eighth anniversary last weekend. Cape Henlopen drove us crazy; the crashing waves of the ocean sounded tantalizingly close, yet just when we thought we were almost there it would turn out to be a mile away. Finally, after climbing a concrete WWII defense tower and charting a different route, we crested over a massive dune and found the waves just as it was about to become too dark to see anything. A twirling mist generated by the surf was washing over the people waiting for food to bite, their taut fishing lines stuck out in the ocean up ahead.
On the bay side, though, things were much calmer, as they had been throughout the day.
Note that there are three birds in the picture.
And it gets even better... WE MAKE A MEAN FREE CORNING MOFFEE.
Can you do anything on the beach in Lewes?...
May 23, 2001
Yet another silent day. Shall we say... If a tree falls in the forest... does it start spouting platitudes? (No, but it says, "Ow, that hurt!") (No, but it starts sprouting flowers from its side.) Do you know what happens to people who type gokdemir.com/nj/2001-05-23.html into their browser's locator, hoping to find a hidden entry? Don't try it folks, listen to the ones who tried it yesterday.
May 22, 2001
What's Up with No New Writing for Two Weeks?
God would also like to remind you that patience is a virtue...
(North Carolina, Easter weekend, 2001)
There's a whole lot more:
All text and images © Aziz Gökdemir's Archive unless otherwise indicated or credited.
The current banner photo was taken at the summer restaurant by the Greek monastery atop the summit of Büyükada (Prinkipo Island), off the coast of Istanbul. 1998, I believe.
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