The requisite Roseland water tower behind the Publix photo.
It has been an interesting day to say the least. We got up and I hustled us to the tasks of getting packed and ready to leave, leaving our little rental house in as close to a state of perfection as we could. We stopped and had breakfast and then hit Highway 1 down the coast of Florida until we finally got to the Melbourne area where things began to trigger my memories and the Indian River was to our left, the jungle to our right, all scattered with old grove houses and stucco buildings that I realized in a bit of an epiphany hold my memories.
My memories are stored in funky old buildings and fish camps and boat houses and cedar trees and gnarled oaks and mostly in the river itself, diluted and washed to other shores as they may be.
And that is simply the way it is.
We stopped at Publix on our way in to Roseland to buy stuff that I should have brought but didn't and we drove into Roseland itself, the river road still white sand, the Roseland Community Center still there, the strip of land between the Sebastian River and the road still pine-and-cedar-treed-and-mango-treed. The little cottages which had been there when I was a child still right where I left them, like an impossible fantasy of a homeplace.
We pulled into the driveway of this tiny cabana house with the spitting lion pool,
and the owner came out of his house next door and I hugged him and as always, thanked him for keeping this alive, for respecting the history of it all.
"A labor of love," he said.
And I love him.
Just as I was unpacking the groceries, the doctor from Mayo finally called. Glen put him on speaker phone and we listened as he said that blood tests were leading to some questions that may help to solve the mystery, possibly, perhaps, maybe, lead to a diagnosis. He speaks English well but I think it is hard for him to speak human. His native tongue is Medicine. And that's all right. But a few things he said and a few answers he gave me to questions led us to have the slightest sliver of hope that this may be an extremely rate syndrome which has a possible antidote.
I'm putting this poorly for several reasons.
One- he didn't give us THAT much information.
Two- We don't speak Medicine.
Three- The very little information online about the syndrome he spoke of was geared to neurologists and I do not have my Tabor's Medical Dictionary with me.
Anyway, Mr. Moon has to get more blood tests and they will take up to four weeks to make any determinations from and so we have to just wait and see.
And so we unpacked and went down to the river and Mr. Moon threw his line in the water and I held on to the seat of my pants and tried not to fly off the dock in the gusty, whistling wind, and a tiny strip of sunset showed above the trees on one of the islands in the river and I could feel and hear and smell and taste all of the memories and all that was happening that very second.
I drank it all in.
My old, age-spotted legs.
Goodness. What a curious thing life is. How amazed I am to be here.