Mr. Rubik

I think about time. I think about thinking about time.


Uncle Herbie was taken to the hospital by an ambulance. I have not completed my "to-do list" task of calling Kensico Cemetery to "place an order" for his burial plot. I don't want to.



I am turning time over and over in my mind, and wondering when it will be the right time to make this phone call. Time is not a Rubik's Cube. It will never line up.  I know this, and yet I turn the little blocks as if they might fit into place. I use the mental Rubik's Cube as a model for options. Maybe the movement gives me time to process the information and settle on a specific alignment of Rubik's Cube-life that is appealing, or at least more tolerable? Rubik's Cube is a powerful playmate for me - and you know how I feel about good playmates.



Once I complete my work, all the cousins will have to be called and they will have to sign the grave-site release. They don't know that he has asked me to do this. It is a character issue for me: am I cold enough to get this done - which is what he wants - and not worry about my cousins? Perhaps there is never a good time for discussions about the practical realities of death.


Hah! I just googled Rubik's Cube, and it was designed by an architect named Rubik in 1974. Of course it is an architect's design! Yes, I am Bob's daughter, and I will never second guess my fascination with Rubik's Cube again. Time to make a phone call - yah - you know where I am calling...

xoxo,

Emily
AKA Bob's Daughter