All that's left of him is his leftover oatmeal.
And even that's been cleared away by now.
Tucson finished dealing with his (formerly) 94-year-old father's estate and headed back for Arizona today. He was a nice guy. A quiet guy. A smart guy. Thirty-seven years in military intelligence and counterintelligence. I asked no more questions about that.
We shook hands and I said it was nice almost having breakfast with him for the past couple of months. He always sat behind me. He'll be back to see the grave marker they're putting in at Forest Lawn, Hollywood, where his mother and grandparents are also buried. But it might be in May, and I'll be travelling during much of May.
It felt kind of creepy turning around to take this shot. I mean, how weird is it to photograph someone's discarded oatmeal?
I felt somewhat akin to this raven I saw at the Sand Canyon exit on my way home Monday night.
2 comments:
I am loving your stories about Bob's Big Boy--kind of reminds me of "Tales of the City," but on a smaller (straighter) scale.
me too, elaine....reminds me that there are exchanges going on all around us...connections being made and unmade.
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