What can one do while standing in a flowing river

       Olivia Batchelder's painting

Nothing could be so certain, certainly.
But I think that, most probably, when one stands in a flowing river, one of the many results, would be got washed, details and edges have got lost, somehow.
My father seems do not believe that. People who has got this kind of personality, is, to some extend, cute, at least. In his mind, I am still a professional nurse, after I have left the field for two and half decades. Theoretically speaking, there is nothing wrong in his thought. Sure. The certificates for nursing are still there, two, although their paper turned yellow in some parts. He still likes to let me have a look of his health-check report. But I am sure that there are very few such kind of statistics still stored in my database. So I checked online. It is so convenient nowadays.
Father sounded so very happy  when I talked with him on the phone the day before yesterday. His delightfulness dragged my mind back to the time when grandpa was expecting his children to come back for the Spring festival. I forgot grandpa's voice. I am not even able to imagine one. Grandpa in my memory, I don't know since when, has become merely silent motion picture. He smiles. To me, he always smiles. This is something would not be washed away, I believe.