Of course I believe in time travel. Most of us experience it, just not the way we would want or expect. A great novel or movie has a flux capacitor that moves us around in time. Or our mind might confuse eras and it simply happens. Standing in the sun in front of a grammar school waiting for my granddaughter Sara, I am asked the reason for my presence. My reply, "I am waiting for Jennifer" instantly rolls away three decades for a few micro seconds and I am again in the warm, beautiful time of my daughter's youth.
Nor are most of us strangers to a chemically induced trip. For those of us not doing recreational drugs they are surprisingly vivid. I was stretched out on a gurney awaiting minor surgery. The view up was of elongated ceiling lights and waiting I revisited scenes from a movie in which a dying Carlito Brigante stares up at similar illumination. But now a nurse administers to me a drug and my reverie was instantly replaced by a sharp vision of a brown and white Guinea pig sitting on his haunches and looking straight at me. Behind Jay, the hairy, white profile of a dog - Swede was also staring me down. My old dog seemed slightly embarrassed that Jay stood so assertively in front of him. But both were communicating the same questions. "Are you coming now?" "When are you coming, we are waiting." Emotionally I dropped way, way down - but was also happy to see them. Nurses now quickly rolled me into surgery.
My father John, died in 1998 at the age of 94 and I have rarely dreamed of him. On a cold, snowy January night in 2008 I arrived in Albany NY from Florida and picked up a rental car - a powerful vehicle with rear wheel drive. Proceeding up the Northway it occurred to me how inexperienced I now was driving in winter conditions. Exiting on to I 88 west the conditions deteriorated - snow swirling and an icy roadway. Occasionally the car began to fishtail. It was then the instructions began - "Slow down!" "No passing." "Stay more to the right." A veritable barrage of orders banged around in my mind - my father's instructions repeated to me over and over when I was learning to drive (and once in a while through the years when he felt they were needed). "Slow down - a car approaching on your left." "Use your mirror!" So many instructions - once I glanced at the passenger seat to see if he was there. "Gently pump your brakes if you feel a slide beginning." In my mind I answered "Dad, this car has anti lock brakes - we don't need to do that anymore." "OK" he replied "Then slow down some more." The instructions and banter went on for perhaps fifteen minutes and then faded away. I drove on alone.
I am standing in the snow by the stacked fire wood in the yard of my long ago home. Across the yard Swede is walking from his dog house through the snow towards me. His beautiful white coat is matted with dirt and stuck to his body. There are specks of dirt on his eyes and face. (As I buried Swede I had carefully wrapped up his face to prevent just this from happening.) Now using my foot prints in the snow Swede walks right by me never looking up. He rushes up the back porch steps intent upon getting into the kitchen. There by the radiator, under the table Swede had his sleeping
rug, food dish and water bowl. He wanted to be in his home - we both miss our home.
Zoey - photo by Ginny Armington
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