Today was a perfect day for me to take my notes outside (I’m trying to imagine what I am going to say during guest lectures I have to give later this month). Sitting in my yard, thinking of my plants, of the sun, of the fresh air and of spring makes me drift back to my grandfather. He and I shared a birthday, except his was in a different century. He would have been 118 this week.
Out of deference to him, I tried the ‘let bugs move across my stomach and arms’ thing. It was like the oldest form of torture. One pernicious wasp-like creature actually appeared to raise its fangs, poised for an attack. I flicked it off. Sorry, dziadku*, I tried.
*[Polish, directive tense (in the Polish language, nouns get conjugated as well), for grandfather]