Mark Staal
Stories (2)
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The Oarsman
The Oarsman Time is both kind and cruel. It is the one thing that gives us perspective, if spent well it also grants us wisdom, and with both, mercy. But time can also be harsh in its treatment of our bodies and our minds. Time had been gracious to my father in many ways but it had also dealt a blow to his health. As his body slowly shut down, his mind and his imagination seemed to take over. It was almost like what happens to someone who loses a sense (sight or hearing) and the other senses take over and amplify their capabilities to lend a hand. This is what was happening to my dad. He was increasingly chair-ridden, if not bed-ridden. He was old, and he looked older to me during each visit. I never knew exactly what I would find when I came to see him, but during a recent visit, I found my dad as I had hoped to see him, in sound mind and good spirits. He wasn’t the father of my youth - I didn’t like to see him age. It seemed unnatural to me that a strong man would become a weak man, as a factor of time alone. I looked up to him growing up. He was large and strong and smelled like a man. Now, I looked down on him and he looked weak, and he smelled less like a man than I had remembered. “I had a wonderful dream last night”, he said. “You’d be interested in hearing it. You were in it. It all took place at the cottage”. He was right, I was interested. My father was a good story teller and his dreams were notorious nail-biters. In recent months he seemed to live as much through the fantasy world of his dreams as he did through the real world of his decline.
By Mark Staal4 years ago in Longevity
Fortress of Solitude
Fortress of Solitude By Mark Staal We stepped out into the darkness, immersed in the sounds of the marsh and the wood. The air was warm and pleasant, the stickiness of the day had lifted, and we noticed a chill coming off the water as we made our way down to the dock. Crickets, tree frogs, something in the bog – all cried out that we were there – a welcome or an alarm, I couldn’t tell you…maybe just an ongoing conversation we had interrupted. We spoke in hushed tones to not scare anything away that might be poised to strike. We hoped to find a bent pole, to hear a splash, or the kind of sound created by something thrashing in the deep water – anything to indicate we had a fish on the line.
By Mark Staal4 years ago in Families
