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1/23/1999 Foggy NightTab took Daniel to a science exhibition at the state museum this morning. The twins and I puttered around the house, then we walked over to Nana's. Half way there, we ran into the psycho dogs that plagued us on our walk several weeks ago. Jean, who knows the people who live next door, told me that the woman who lives in that house is in the early stages of Alzheimer's. She is certainly not able to care for those beasts. The front gate is never fastened securely, and they are always skulking about in front of the house. When they saw us approaching, one of them trotted towards us, barking the whole time. I took Stephen and Matthew by their hands and walked the other way. The dog followed us, growling loudly, which scared the boys. I told them not to turn around, but just to keep walking. When we crossed the street, the dog stopped and returned to the house. I've called animal control at least once about those brutes. I guess I'm going to have to do it again. Nana was in her bed downstairs, looking as pale, fragile, and crumpled as a piece of tissue paper. Her face lit up when she saw the boys. Rita and Sarah were both there and were happy to see us. Rita said that Nana has been in a lot of pain since her fall a couple days ago and has actually asked for pain medication, which is unusual for her. The meds have caused her to loosen her already-tenuous grasp on reality. Her voice is so soft that, to hear her, I had to lean very close. Even when I could understand the words, I cannot comprehend her meaning. She speaks to people unseen of people long gone. She describes how to make new curtains and what we should serve at a picnic. Then her mouth goes slack and her eyes slowly shut. When I told Rita that we should get going, Nana opened her eyes, and asked for a kiss. I held her hand in my own. Her skin is cool, dry, and paper thin. I told her I love her, and we left. The three boys and I took a walk in the fog this evening before dinner. The sky was the blue-grey of twilight, and the orange coronas of the streetlights glowed through the misty grey veil. The moon, nearly a quarter full, had a corona, too. The foggy night air was cool and damp on my face. We walked through the alley behind our house. The boys darted ahead of me, racing each other. "Time out!" shouted Daniel, stopping suddenly, and his brothers stopped running, too. "OK, time in!" he yelled again, and they were off again like three fleet arrows. Or perhaps "boomerangs" is the better simile since they returned to me and then took off again. Miss Jean came out on the porch to visit with the boys, and Daniel told her all about the science exhibition: the electrical display with a Tessla coil, the live snake he had held, the laser light show at the planetarium. While we were talking a figure materialized out of the fog. At first all I could see was a dark silhouette: the wide-brimmed fedora and dark, vaguely-menacing shape reminded me of Judge Doom from Who Framed Roger Rabbit; as he approached I saw it was John, the cranky old man who lives on Jean's block. He was dressed up and must have been coming from Mass. Jean said "Hi, John," to him and he said hello to her, but ignored the twins despite their exuberant greetings. "Someone parked in his space yesterday," Jean told me after John had passed. "He came out of his house and hollered at them until they moved their car." We said goodbye to Jean and continued our walk. The sky in the east was becoming a darker shade of blue, and here and there a few stars shown through the clouds. I love night walks.
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