It’s easier for me to write about the past than the present, but I won’t attempt to evade this.
This story begins as follows:
Nearly 1½ years ago our family moved into our current apartment, and there were several issues to be dealt with, one of which was particularly unexpected.
For the first several weeks, I often felt a slight electric shock whenever I came near our kitchen appliances when in operation. At first, I thought that some of them were faulty, but the effect was always exactly the same whether it was the stove, the kettle, the toaster, etc… Something was clearly amiss, and it wasn’t one particular appliance. Eventually, an electrician arrived and swiftly identified the problem – the apartment’s wiring had been ungrounded.
Sadly, on an otherwise innocuous day, some weeks prior to the electrician’s visit, my wrist watch had brushed against the electric kettle while it was running, and the ensuing charge had warped the glass. That was the same watch I had found in Papa’s top desk drawer after his death and worn every day since his funeral a year earlier.
No less regrettably, my then 4½-year-old daughter, who was teaching herself to unclasp and reclasp my watch accidentally dropped the unfortunate memento onto the floor while she was fiddling with the band, and -of course- the warped glass cracked slightly.
Upset. I was really upset.
But, honestly, I had already been going back and forth over what to do with my watch back when it had been struck by electricity. On the one hand, it was Papa’s watch:
I wear my father’s cap; my father’s yarmulke; my father’s watch; his house shoes.-Me, ‘Skeptic’s Kaddish’ #15, Nov. 11, 2018
On the other hand, the watch face was damaged… and blemishes irritate me. Despite the cost, I decided to purchase a new watch produced by the same watchmaker that Papa had selected. I picked one with a brown face that I liked in particular, from the same series.
The new watch arrived, and it was lovely. I admired it appreciatively and then put it back into its box… I didn’t like the idea of it getting scratched, which I well knew would happen once I started wearing it. Papa’s watch still remained on my wrist, but I somehow felt comforted knowing that my new undamaged timepiece was resting nearby on the bookshelf.
Over the weeks that followed, I found myself wearing Papa’s watch less often. Sometimes I would leave it on the table or on a bookshelf and forget about it… sometimes I’d remember removing it, but I wouldn’t be able to find it. Right now, his watch happens to be lying before me on the table as I sit here typing, but I haven’t been been wearing it today.
The thing about Papa’s watch is that it’s not just a random memento. Papa was very attached to wearing watches. Throughout my childhood, at all different ages, he would express bewilderment at my lack of desire to wear one, whenever I happened to not have a timepiece on my wrist. By the time cell phones became popular, I really didn’t see any reason to wear a watch, and even the watch my wife once bought for me as a birthday present eventually ended up in one of our bedroom drawers.
That’s why my wrist was bare when I found Papa’s watch in his desk drawer before his funeral – I hadn’t been wearing a watch for years… but Papa had never, ever been without his.
I wore Papa’s watch for more than a year before its glass was damaged, and I continued to wear it daily for nearly a year following its disfigurement… but I seem not to want to wear it as much anymore.
I also have the beautiful new watch that Papa would have liked, but I don’t really want to wear it either… I don’t want it to get damaged, and -more importantly- it isn’t Papa’s watch… so what would be the point exactly? Also, wearing a new watch would require me deciding what to do with Papa’s watch, and I don’t really want to think about that.
The truth is that it’s not only Papa’s watch. One of his hats that I took back with me to Israel was his summer cap, made of polyester. During the hot months, which are the majority of the year here, I always wear that cap outdoors; and during the colder months I always wear his winter cap. Some time ago, I noticed that Papa’s summer cap had become slightly discolored and was staining the wall that it was hanging upon. When I put the cap down atop a piece of paper, it would also get stained brown…
I know that Papa’s summer cap has had its day. Once winter really sets in, I’ll switch back to Papa’s winter cap, and I doubt that I’ll return to wearing his discolored polyester cap again. But- what should I do with it? I don’t want to think about that either.
There are other such examples, but I’m not into belaboring the point, and I know that these reflections are rather prosaic. How much can one write about mundane effects? Also, I know that I don’t need to wear Papa’s clothes in order to remember him. Certainly my mother and my brother remember Papa in other ways.
I’m struggling with the realization that I’ve been letting go of my need for mementos…
I still have an unopened half liter bottle of AKASHI White Oak Blended Japanese Whiskey, which I purchased on the way to Papa’s funeral. That summer night, at Ben Gurion International Airport, I spontaneously bought myself three bottles- The first we drank after the funeral; the second I brought to the synagogue to mark the anniversary of Papa’s death; the third one has been sitting untouched since July 9th, 2018.
Honestly, I have no idea what to do with it.
Now, I don’t drink much, but I greatly enjoy a good whiskey, and I almost always have some at home. Two or three weeks ago, I suddenly had a strong hankering for a drink, and the only bottle available was that half liter bottle of AKASHI.
I resisted opening the AKASHI that day, and just today I finally stopped by the liqueur store (at my wife’s behest) to stock us up for the coming winter months. Even as I’ve been writing this post, I’ve been sipping on some Glenfarclas, enjoying the heat running down into my belly…
Why haven’t I opened that bottle of Japanese whiskey yet?
What is it that I am waiting for?