By Matthew Majsak
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In the waning years of what was once my final stage of development, I spent every summer evening on that dock (well not so much the dock but rather the grass before it because the dock was damp from dew and hidden from the sun trapped in the willows draped over the shoreline, and besides it was shaky and not nearly as comfortable as the grass for staring at the Minnesota horizon that rose up around me like the rim of a bowl). I lay for hours listening to the waves lap at rocks and rotting posts and watching the blue, sometimes grey, sky turn indigo then purple and if I was lucky orange before fading into a murky navy like the lake it reflected. Sometimes I wrote. Mostly I stared. In those years, I found watching as enjoyable as doing, and a hell of a lot less work.
The dock is gone now. I went looking for it a year or two ago, amidst my newest final stage of development. My grandparents are gone too. Not gone entirely, just from the house that defined them as much as they defined it for 40 years. I guess their neighbor (who it turns out was also their landlord) thought the decay was hurting his property value.
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Epilogue
A list of things Grandma has lost since moving:
Her peripheral vision, a pearl earring, her hearing in one and a half ears, the remote, two of her toes, the ability to drive, her short term memory, sleep.1
A list of things Grandma still has:
Her blue reclining rocking chair, fridge magnets of each of her grandchildren, her beautiful black hair in a stalemate with intruding grey and white which never makes it past a few strands, Jesus, her long term memory, calls from her children and grandchildren, Grandpa.
Grandpa is faring much better. 91 is Minnesota middle-aged and he looks like he’s got another ten in him at least. You can tell he’s slowing down though, like an exponential decay graph which his spine is starting to mimic after deciding 90 years was about all it could take with the weight it had to carry. He still goes out to the truck stop for coffee with the boys,2 but more and more would rather stay home and watch Fox News or CMT or reruns of his favorite Westerns. Watching is just as enjoyable as doing, and a hell of a lot less work.
1 Since first writing this poem Grandma has also lost part of her hip
2 Since first writing this poem all of “the boys” have passed away. The younger guys try to keep Grandpa in the loop but it’s not quite the same
Critique
Hi Matthew! Thanks so much for submitting this lovely and personal piece.
The beginning of this piece is a bit wordy, which makes it cumbersome to read. The first sentence especially suffers from overuse of qualifiers. The statement in parentheses is quite long and could be split into a few sentences of more concise and readable description.
However, your epilogue is truly wonderful- the concept of listing the things your grandparents still retain is such a creative way to represent aging and the passage of time. The lists are descriptive and wonderful, and the repetition of the final phrase “Watching is just as enjoyable as doing…” is a final touch that pulls the whole piece together. The footnotes also add another level of interest and dimension to the epilogue. Overall, the piece is creative and promising. Thanks again for submitting and definitely keep writing!
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