TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile
You remember him as an avuncular presence, in the background, always kind, so obviously full of love for his children and their children, joyful over their achievements and friendships. When you’d come to his house as his child’s friend and his guest, you deeply appreciated the warm welcome he gave you, the food he offered, the acceptance you sensed in that house on the hill with its dog and cat. Of course the years drifted by, the dog and the cat died, bodies got older, ill, infirm. Your own life changed, as the sun rose and fell, as the moon waxed and ebbed. One morning, an email arrives. You feel compelled to give sorrow words; the man is gone, but the effect of his good person lingers. 5,000 miles ache between that time and now, that house on the hill and this apartment by the Atlantic.