Intimations
Last night I made a special trip out to historic Windsor, one of the oldest towns in NSW. We’ve only recently encountered the historic district, having previously spent all our time in South Windsor, where the government deposited most of the housing commission units, or more lately the Hawksbury Hospital, where Meera’s grandfather is undergoing treatment for various conditions, most of which appear now to be complications of each other. I went out to deliver a CD player and the recent Elvis collection. John is a life-long fan of the King, only in the past months ending his practice of wearing the trademark pompadour. I also hauled out “In the Wee Small Hours,” one of the top Sinatra albums of the Nelson Riddle era, and a recentish Johnny Cash record that is among the most heart-felt collections of songs I’ve heard. John has been in hospital with little more than a newspaper now and then and four television stations, and visitors notwithstanding, probably needs a bit more. I hope the music will alleviate a little of the boredom outside of visiting hours. He’s very ill, gravely, even, and our best hopes are hard to hold on to. There are many complexities, and although I’m usually too preoccupied with my own quotidian concerns, I’m often thinking of what we’ll do, or at least the decisions we’ll face sooner than we’d expected. John’s only 71, and my father’s health at 75 has led me to consider that quite young, all things considered. I think of what he’s going through and listen to what he says. John’s not one to give much away, but he lets on enough.