TrueBelievers, in anticipation of the end of the world-as-we-know-it tonight at midnight (just 5 minutes from now) are running up their credit cards, enjoying last meals, driving fast and furious on interstates in order to do everything they’ve ever wanted to do in life on this planet. And the thoughtful ones have been urged to seek non-True-Believers (ie, anyone not Christian) to take care of their pets, once they have ascended. Animals are apparently not welcome in the world-to-come.
I am just back to LA from Pittsburgh, where I helped my dad pack up all his worldly belongings (that is, what was left after a minority successful estate sale, a massive donation to Goodwill, and the divvying up of the kingdom amongst his three daughters) into a huge truck headed towards Northern California.
My mother, who died in November of 2002, was a masterful shopper and she loved antiques, so the house was full of dark wood in evocative styles. My father got rid of it all, except the Chinese bar. After all, a man needs a bar. He says he’s “going modern.” After a long career as a physicist with an expertise in detonation and explosion, he’s shopping for a new bed, high thread-count bedding and towels, and a glass table and chairs for his new digs in San Rafael, California.
He got the idea for the move late last year, got himself a new knee in December, and set about making it happen. Five months later, he’s just this hour landed in San Francisco. It’s pretty stunning what he’s accomplished: a whole new life.
Meanwhile, if the world does not end tonight at midnight, my plan, now that my role in Project Bob has come to a happy ending, is to spend the summer reading, writing, dancing, and getting The Dig ready for production in the fall or winter of 2012.
And if the world does end and all the True Believers go on to the world they’ve been promised, me and others like me will spend most of our time feeding, petting, walking, grooming tons of grief-striken guinea pigs, iguanas, cats and dogs. Not to mention all those wailing geckos.
My dad Bob watching the movers load the last box into the van.
