On Frozen Pond

As Time Goes By, Tony Dorsey Band, 1943

The stellar view of the almost frozen pond and wind-danced trees from the enclosed porch reminded me of the saying, time waits for no one. Valerie, my daughter, a self-proclaimed exception, was late as usual. She pulled into the gravel driveway in her Hybrid vehicle, came inside and greeted Papa, her grandfather, and me with a hug. At eighty-nine years old, Papa had been physically struggling the past month, and I encouraged her to visit him. Like the short days of winter we endured, his time on earth was limited. She hadn't seen him in over a year and not since they had a heated argument about the person of her romantic interests.

Valerie remembered everything, Papa, more and more remembered nothing unless a trivial fact from his early years.

The propane heaters radiated their heat and, along with a knitted throw, kept Papa warm in his rocking chair. He sat to my right and Valerie to my left. Three generations rocked and watched the anime of mother nature’s cyclic reset in strained silence.

"Where are the ducks?" Valarie asked, and I smiled at our standing joke.

"Hawaii, this year," I said, "They had a good year." Valerie laughed.

"Ducks fly south for the winter," Papa mumbled, Valerie's laughter stopped, and we returned to staring at nature's portrait and our reticence.

"I was born in the year nineteen and thirty," Papa said.

"I was born in two thousand," She replied.

"Lived on a farm and did chores before sunrise," he said.

"I work online from my home office," she said.

"Fed the chickens and ducks and milked the cow before breakfast," he said.

My head swiveled right and left like a spectator at a tennis match as they stared out at the almost frozen pond,

"My dog eats when I do," she replied.

"I walked three miles to school," Papa said.

"I took all my classes online," Valerie said.

"Lunch was a piece of cornbread in a napkin,"

"I love Doordash."

"I plowed the field with a mule."

"I hired a house plant service that comes every two weeks."

"I chopped logs for our woodstove."

"I have central heat and air conditioning."

"We had a Model T, when it would run."

"I have a Hybrid sedan to help the environment."

"We only drove to Sunday morning meetings and called on family around the county in the afternoon."

"I have Zoom and Snapchat."

"Sunday lunch was fried chicken plucked from the coop."

"Fried Chicken King has the best chicken."

"Sunday nights my mother baked a rack of biscuits for supper."

"My Mom ordered Pizza."

"The kitchen table was where we listened to the radio."

"We watch television in the living room."

"Our Victrola record player played the best music, Tony Dorsey."

"I have Spotify, Post Malone."

"The Baseball broadcasts were exciting."

"I like American Ninja."

"I weeded the vegetable garden every day."

"I love shopping at our organic grocery store."

"We had a grandfather clock in the main room. The beat of the pendulum and the hourly chimes were comforting."

"I have a smartwatch."

"For years, we had to go to the general store to use their phone, cost a nickel."

"I have a smartphone."

"We would drive to attend weddings. It's a good thing to see a man and a woman joined in matrimony," he said.

The porch seemed colder, and Valerie delayed her volley, angry. The timbre of her voice, though quieter, became intense.

"I support choice of love and commitment between all people," she said.

"We fought the Third Reich and Communism," he said.

"I fight sexism and racism," she replied.

"I quit smoking forty years ago," he said.

"I like weed," she said.

"We locked everything up when the migrant workers came for harvest," he said.

"My neighbors just received citizenship," she said.

We sat in a renewed silence as the wind pulsed against the windows and the rocking chairs creaked.

"I miss MaMa," Papa said, "Your Grandma loved everyone."

"I miss MaMa too," Valerie said, "She accepted everyone for who they were, including me."

My Mom believed in the Golden Rule and lived it, Do unto others as you would have them do to you.

The wind stilled and the creaking of the chairs stopped in reverence of the moment as their juncture induced a long pause.

"I love you Papa," Valerie said and looked toward him.

"I love you too, Valerie," he said and turned his head to her.

She rose from her chair and walked to him. Though in crippling pain, he stood, and the woven throw fell to the floor. They embraced. Tears misted my eyes as a bridge of love crossed over me and reconnected them.

"I'm sorry Valerie, you know I love you to the moon and back," he said.

A month later, the last section of the pond froze, and Papa slipped into eternity. His ducks would never return. Valerie and her girlfriend stayed at the mountain house for a few days for the memorial service. We backed out of the driveway; she stopped the car with the house to our left and the pond to the right. Valerie, unblinking, panned the pond and its blue ice top, complete.

She said, "The future will bring the thaw, and my ducks will return, but one day my pond will freeze over too like MaMa and Papas. Though they were different in thought amidst changing times, I hope my son, daughters, and grandchildren will love me the same as they did.”

I bowed my head as we drove into the sun as it moved west. My daughter, my duck, had come home. I foresaw my pond half-frozen at the mid-span of my life and envisioned the same hope of her remembrance.

Time Waits for No One, Freddie Mercury