the game is over, the bird flew out the window.

In 1985, my family planned a huge surprise party for my grandfather. He was retiring. I was four years old. He had made his living at Lincoln Foundry, here in Southern California, making casts and molds and other such technical and mechanical things that are still over my head.

All I really remember was yelling "Surprise!" And seeing my grandmother nearly pass out. [Note: I do also remember my uncle telling Amy and I not to get up during the night because there were snakes under our bed.}

Today I noticed a book on the bottom shelf of the bookcase behind where his chair always sat. The spine said "Brancusi." Now, being married to an artist, I do happen to have a side story about this artist which includes this picture:



The story is that Kenneth (one of John's friends) hates that sculpture, called "Bird in Flight." And John was sort of being a jerk. In a really cute, artsy, no-one-really-gets-the-joke, kind of way.

Anyway, Lincoln Foundry made a cast of one of Brancusi's other works. I remember hearing this from Grandpa before, but I had no idea the guy was actually famous enough to make it into the standard art history lecture.

So I'm on the floor, looking at this book when I notice my grandfather's walkman resting on top of the books. I can see him, now, in my mind, swiveling the chair and sticking it down there after listening to the end of the Dodger game.

And I wonder, was he the last person to touch this? Is it still here because that's where he put it?

I put on the headphones and turn on the AM radio because I figure that's what he listened to the games on. But it isn't a game.

I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood,
I know I could
always be good
to one who'll watch over me.

"Someone to Watch Over Me" was added to the list of songs my mom and I play and sing together whenever we're in the mood to hurt our backs and sit at the piano shortly after we saw "Mr. Holland's Opus."

I remember my grandfather sleeping with a little, blue square radio under his pillow. I remember finding it when I would come into their room in the morning and climb from the foot of the bed up in between them. They smelled like honey and Vicks Vaporub. Grandma would hold my hand and smile at me, our cheeks soft against her pillow, face to face. Grandpa's radio would buzz and hiss. And I remember how much thinner he looked without a shirt on.

Won't you tell him please to put on some speed?
Follow my lead,
Oh how I need
Someone to Watch Over Me.