The Jasmine in my Mind

 Let’s take a trip back in time…

I kept a journal when I was working as a pool monitor over the summer of 2017, as you may know. To my amazement, that was almost ten years ago now. I started the entries as letters to my mother, even though I never mailed them. I’d like to share one such letter.

Dear Mom,

It is Friday June 9, 2017. I am here at Cypress Head pool. No one is here except for two young guys cleaning the pool. They come in a white truck. The landscaping guys were here earlier, with their leaf blowers and weed wackers. A man named Tim McDaniel introduced himself to me. Nice gentleman — did Navy Reserves. Told me to dip my feet in the pool. Good idea. One of these days I’m going to take a quick dip. Sometimes I wear my bathing suit under my clothes, just for the hell of it. 

I packed a lunch today in the Rubbermaid lunchbox nana gave me: peanut butter sandwich, apple, banana, pretzels, Brisk iced tea. It’s noon; in an hour I go to Dunlawton. Yesterday there was no toilet paper in the bathroom— and the cleaning woman had just been there Monday and replaced it! So…I left, because it looked like rain, and no one’s going to swim if it rains…and I’m not going to sit there four hours without TP. I can at least get some toilet paper for this job, yes? 

Anyways, I brought my own today, for no doubt it won’t have been replaced. I don’t want to call Randy because there’s no TP in the clubhouse. Cmon, now.

I stopped by Dollar General on my way back yesterday, to look for a portable radio, among other things: mosquito repellant, gum, snacks, sunblock. I do hope to find one — and a car radio as well, at some point. I need some jams. For now I’ve got to jam on paper, in blue ink, ha ha. Jam Jam Jam. 

It is a beautiful day out here: billowing white jet-puff clouds on creamy blue sky. Breezy — 75 degrees? I’m in the shade: under an umbrella that’s under a tree canopy. Cars whiz by — only 25 mph— to the golf course headquarters up the road. I can see its parking lot from here. That must be where you check in and rent out golf carts, rent clubs, get your shoes shined, whatever. Theres a restaurant there, too; must be some fine fruit cocktails and vanilla puddings, crisp salads, club sandwiches…bacon, turkey, little green olives…lemon wedges and rosemary…mint…perhaps some alcoholic beverages…in a taproom called the “Iron Club” (?)

There’s a small tree here with pink blooms hanging like clusters of grapes. The tree is about a foot taller than I. The biggest cluster hangs to the left, bending the thin but resilient branch in a dramatic arch. It’s asymmetrically large — overpowering one side of the tree. I wonder what it’s called…the petals are fiery fuscia pink. Very vibrant. What can I compare it to?…ha ha, maybe the streak of pink that forms when beets touch coleslaw. The color girls’ prom dresses come in, with rhinestones on the bust. 

There’s a story in one of these Readers Digest condensed books about heart surgery. “Hearts,” published 1971 by Thomas Thompson— a nonfiction account of patients at Houston undergoing examination and surgery, “their courage, ordeals, and triumphs […] who have come to Houston from everywhere, desperate for help.” Featured are tow world famous heart surgeons, Dr. Michael DeBakey and Dr. Denton Cooley.