In certain ways, WWII never ended in this house. My father loved being in the Navy, being part of something big and important. It was his identity much more than father or husband or any kind of employee, although he did work for the Naval Civil Service for 20 years or more after the war. There were ALWAYS books about war around. He read them with dedication and unflagging interest.
I had come here to live for a bit after some sojourn around. As I pulled up to the curb, I could hear the crashing of bullets and airplanes drifting across the front yard. The war was on and my father was watching it, again. The soundtrack from Victory At Sea was well-worn around Summer Avenue.
And when it wasn't a historical war, well, there was Vietnam every night. My oldest brother somehow missed the draft. But he was the right age to hang around with friends who had been there and back. One of them in particular was pursuing a degree at USC, so going over to Tommy's for late night burgers was a regular occurrence. I was never ever invited to go along.
I was about 14. My parents would go to bed and the bro and his friends would be up late. I must have been in early high school. I usually hovered around the edges of the living room, listening to their stories about 'Nam, early-ish 'Nam like '63-65. I distinctly remember one of them talking about walking point. I had no real idea of what they were talking about, I just liked to listen. I imagine they kept the stories clean enough to tell in front of me. After all, they needed me for the fourth hand in Hearts or Spades that they played into the night. I won often enough, just from not being aggressive. They would get mad and call me a vegetable. I ignored them.
Plus, I had nubile girlfriends who came around as well.
So, inasmuch as I enjoy the fashion show that the Emmy's provide, it seems kind of insulting that this important documentary is on at the same time. I know that it doesn't matter much, with streaming and on demand. And I don't always like what Ken Burns does ... like enough slow down shooter moves over still photos, okay? You did not invent that. But I have always been fascinated with Vietnam. It is one of the only places in Asia that I really want to visit. This seems like a solemn event.
I have been neglecting the garden, but I've mentioned that before. The bougainvillea are taking over. The orange one I planted this year is skyrocketing up what passes for a trellis, onto the roof of the breezeway. Another crop of (Kit's) cosmos are in the vegetable garden, splashing color among the browning corn stalks. And, wonder of wonders, my potted lime tree has its first flowers!
And then there were a couple of songs that at the time seemed out of place, given that we were a nation at peace: Soldier Boy and Navy Blue. I sat in the bathtub (one of the only private places in our house) and listened to this, wondering what it was all about. The songs have changed but the pondering haven't.
PATIENCE
Patience is
wider than one
once envisioned,
with ribbons
of rivers
and distant
ranges and
tasks undertaken
and finished
with modest
relish by
natives in their
native dress.
Who would
have guessed
it possible
that waiting
is sustainable —
a place with
its own harvests.
Or that in
time's fullness
the diamonds
of patience
couldn't be
distinguished
from the genuine
in brilliance
or hardness.
— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, New York, Grove Press, 2010
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