Xiang Shengmoe:
Crab-apple Blossom from a Flower Album of Ten Leaves
(1656)

"May she fondly remember her great-grands."

The Muse's post-cancer treatment includes five years of surveillance involving frequent doctor visits and occasional specialist consultations. No reason for serious concern has yet emerged from this scrutiny, but the inquiry continues for at least another eighteen months. She could have chosen to see this specialist via tele-health. Still, she decided it might be useful to visit in person, if only to stay in touch with someone offering more experience than her local practitioner can. This means a short trip to what I'll forever call Sleazeattle, an overnight in a grossly over-priced hotel, and associated adventures. Ask me what gives me Hope, and I'll respond that the future renders me hopeful. When the present seems filled with hopeless boobs conspiring to make their lives Hell, the future never gets even distantly involved in those shenanigans. What helps me cope with how things seem to be now? Two things: the shadow of my future and the ability to roam around a bit in my present. I'm a dedicated homebody, but The Muse insists I get out into The World. I rarely regret these excursions, though I usually faunch beforehand in anticipation.

The Muse opted to see this specialist in person because it gave her an excuse to see her great-granddaughter Really. (Really's a family name! Nobody's ever a family member until after they've been given a family name to fix the shortcomings their original inevitably exhibits.) Her real name doesn't matter to family. To us, she's Really. The Muse had seen her a few months ago, but we do not live nearby, so she's already three times older than she was on that first visit. I'd never met her, and though I'm no blood relative, I still consider her my great-granddaughter. Great-granddaughters provide a reason to feel hopeful, regardless of current conditions. A GGD has an upside, which is the one thing no great-grandfather can realistically provide. My future's been shrinking constantly since the day I was born, leaving me ever further behind on the upside portion of the program. I'm more than physically shrinking. A GGD provides an extension into a world I will never know. That's hopeful for me.

The ride over was typically remarkable. The Muse insists that just getting out in the world tends to make stuff happen, and we cannot get far from The Villa before discovering why we were called out into the world. Yeah, yeah, that specialist visit was the proximal cause, and visiting the GGD was the ulterior motive, but other factors tend to overshadow original intentions. One can create an excuse to enter The World, but one must discover the purpose of each excursion. Something will happen unbidden, some event or occurrence will come to refine why you were called forth. This requires attention, so attention must be paid lest the purpose slip by unnoticed. If one wants to feel hopeless, one must distract their attention so purposes slip by unnoticed. One might stick their nose into their handheld device while passing through a little slice of Heaven or get so tangled up retelling their existing story that a fresh chapter slips past. One must inhabit moments to discover purpose.

Every drive to Sleazeattle ends the same, in a long series of curves leading down onto an often rainy plain. It feels like a descent, and I always find it disconcerting. Each drive begins uniquely, for various routes exist to connect us to those final few miles. The shortest route isn't the fastest, and the longest isn't the slowest. Those who wish to stay on freeway most of the way can get their wish, but it will cost them. Those preferring to toodle might take longer but see much more, including the almost ghost town of Washtucna, a place every road in SE Washington State eventually leads to. I abhor the freeway route, and not only because it's preferred by trucks. Trucks wouldn't be such abominable traveling companions if they behaved like they do in France, where they obey the truck speed limit and stay in the right lane so they don't clog up traffic. Here, they seem to revel in pulling out into the fast lane when approaching a hill, where they commence to slow down through traffic until the hotheads start driving dangerously, purportedly to "make up lost time." The result isn't so much driving but feeling driven, a defensive stance that often distracts from identifying the emerging purpose of the excursion. Freeways make it too easy to focus on critically unimportant things like driving.

We're driving across the Great Central Washington Reclamation when we happen upon apple orchards in full bloom. Miles of orchard. Billions of blooms. (There, we found a useful use for billions!) I've lived decades in this country and never seen entire orchards in bloom on that scale! This was a breathtaking experience, but probably not the purpose. The probable purpose came when we visited Really and her mom, our family-named GrandOtter. The Muse was holding her legacy when the question came: By what name will The Muse be known to her GGDaughter? She's G-Ma to my son's kids, and grandma to her own grandkids, but neither moniker seems right for the great-grand. GigaMa was proposed and tested for mouth feel. It slipped away, then reintroduced itself. It ultimately passed muster, as these sorts of things tend to. Introduced as a slip of somebody's tongue, these family names define a generation, a family time, and an eternity. That's what we found on this excursion, a reason to be hopeful for our uncertain future, which will eventually and most certainly pass into Really's hands. May she fondly remember her great-grands.

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #CHope , #PureSchmaltz