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Reprise, Part 2

April 2, 2013

John signs our credit statements and we bid farewell to the Warwick Hotel. The doorman hails a taxi, and the driver zooms to JFk in half an hour, the roads being mainly without traffic on this Martin Luther King Monday morning. The cost is the standard $52.00 plus tip. This seems unfair to our first driver on Friday evening who took well over an hour and a half for the same milage.

Our flight does not board until 12:50 PM.

Security personnel are efficient and cheerful, and I manage to avoid the pat-downs. Lucky me. Our plane arives at the gate, a giant bird with out-stretched wings, as graceful as machinery and all those nuts and bolds can be. The Dorsett family has always been fascinated by flying, and my mother’s grandfather was said to have built an airplane in his barn before he realized he couldn’t get it out. Nanny said it probably wouldn’t have flown anyway. My father wrote stories for pulp-magazines: “Wings of Hate”, “Sky Bonehead”, and “Hell’s Crates”.

In the air the giant bird becomes a tiny sparrow, winging its way across a marvelous land. I remember my father-in-law, dear Popper, who cllamed he wouldn’t mind flying if he could keep his feet on the ground.

My beautiful daughter continues to grade the geometry papers she had started on the flight to New York City. She sighs, “Mom, look at this. They don’t read the question.” I see a sea of red ink as she fans the papers. “They have the process, but they don’t have the right answer. There’s another simple step. I can’t get them to read the question.”

“Perhaps, you could have them write the answer in a complete sentence using the words of the question?” I haven’t been a reading teacher for nothing.

She gives me that ‘how-weird-is my-mother’ look, and I return my attention to  finishing my book.

Tomorrow is a workday for Beth and Tim. John and I can sleep in.

His Eye is on the sparrow, and He has been good to me.

The End

 

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