I’m typing this missive on Monday night at 9:45 PM. No, my satellite dish wasn’t attacked by a drone (I don’t think) and I haven’t given up watching Dancing With the Stars because of my old tap dancing injury…it was long before the league outlawed the use of the crack back block. No, Sharon and I (and Buddy) are gathered around the dining room table getting a little work done while our granddaughter (the ever so talkative Lyla) sleeps in the room once reserved for Dad…he’d like that. Tomorrow after I see Sharon and Lyla on their way I’m going to climb on big red and make the trip that I used to love… and hate, down to Standing Rock and the farm that Dad loved and the place where Dad died. I’m going to spend a little time sitting in the swing on the porch of the old farmhouse and see if I can still hear the laughter of my cousins as we ran around in the yard. I’m going to see if the cool morning air reminds me of leaving with the dogs just after breakfast and how we wouldn’t load our guns till well away from the house. I carried a Belgium made Browning Sweet Sixteen and I think I can still feel its heft and hear the sound of the shells as I loaded them into the magazine. Some days I think that the reason we have trouble “pivoting” when trouble comes our way is because we don’t have a foot planted firmly on the ground. And while I would agree that no previous time in our history was perfect I do think that our past defines us and we need it to keep a balance in our lives…to understand who we are, our values and our vanities. For me the porch at the farmhouse gave me that balance. When I was small I could play there safely without the worry of getting near the busy street or an unfriendly stray dog. Later during a hard rain I would make the porch my headquarters for a battle amongst my plastic soldiers or a sanctuary to read one of my books. As I grew older it was where I brought my College buddies to meet mam’aw and granddaddy and where I sat with my sweetheart and reveled in the way everyone talked about my “marrying up”. It was where I sat with Dad and George and laughed and joked…and forgot about all the things Dad couldn’t remember…or do, after his accident. And it is the backdrop of my most cherished photos, of Dad and Jason and I and the new babies. Yep, Tuesday is tune up day…a day to go backwards so that I can again go forwards, … a little time on the porch and walking the fields for no other reason than to remember…and be thankful. I’ll see y’all on the off ramp.
Posted on: Tue, 05 Nov 2013 11:34:54 +0000
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