Today when I woke and snuggled in close to your father, I realized he smells different, the skin and dust of a much-older man, the pores no longer exuding whatever youth once gave off. It is not unlike the way a dog will know things. Remember when poor Margot was old and we got Rudolf to help see her through? I have never known if that was the right thing to do or not. I feared it hurt her feelings, because she stayed another two years, but there at the end, Rudolf often smelled her breath, and I think he was smelling death, that he knew it was coming. If we all opened our senses to it, we would see much more than we do in passing.

Sometimes I wake early and just watch your father sleeping; I lean close and breathe in, this new smell I have come to treasure as I once did that smell of youth and virility. He talks too much about death these days. I don’t mind discussing the practical aspects; I think that’s important. But he is discussing the hows, musing about when, his invitation for us to simply leave together there in the room like the big elephant. I’m always surprised when people ask those awful questions: Would you rather die suddenly of a heart attack, or after a long battle with cancer? And who plays such parlor games but the young, who believe they will always be young. People talk about premature deaths, but do they ever talk of mature ones?

Connie! That is the name of the woman from Filene’s, and isn’t it funny how pieces blow in that way and how I realize that sometimes when Gloria calls to tell me what is happening there at home, I picture Connie just as she looked walking past the Wilbur Theatre in 1950-something. Connie with her auburn bob and perpetual grin, selling hosiery while I sold cosmetics and perfume. Coty gift set? Prince Matchabelli?

Oh, it is so mysterious when the pieces blow in, like a window cracking to give the tiniest bit of air and light. Cold winter air and I am in the carpool line, windshield wipers batting the fat snowflakes, heat on my face and feet, making me drowsy, or I am there on the platform, waiting for the train.

Harvey