How strange this morning seems to me. My Uncle is being put into the ground. I am sure there are few in attendance, but my son is there, reading my eulogy. I could not attend, nor would I because of my feelings regarding funerals.
But I had a dream last night. It was a dream of Yul Brynner at Uncle’s apartment/office. I was spending time, as usual, sitting on the floor of his office, playing with his old Wollensak reel-to-reel tape recorder.
Mr. Brynner, then appearing in “The King and I,” walked in and looked down at me. “Please, the microphone,” he said. My neck craned, I look up and proffered the mike. I took it and began to sing “Puzzlement,” a capella, from the play.
And then my dream turned to a fruit basket: My uncle would always keep a bowl of fruit on his table that was a bit unusual: It was canned fruit.
