With a full belly and a glad heart, keep peeling away at the shellac. You know it's all for show and the real work is hidden beneath mounds of scraps. Tap into the energy of the silver sliver in the sky. Thanks to your dietary restrictions and ponderous tire kicking, your Cycle of So-So is about to be over. You get a golden scar for coming this far.
Finish what never got started and move on.
H-ville's strung with Christmas bulbs way before the wishbone's snapped. And the hottest floor show begins at 7:00 on Falcon View Lane. Mrs. Stephens shakes her good frame from the second-story window of a mock-Tudor. She knows where the light falls best to caress her curves. By the way, neighbor Gary's got ageusia and still doesn't miss the $5.99 Tuesday special at Chik'n & Biskit. Bells are rung by the special ed kid who laughs as he plans his next attack. Sometimes doors are opened.
Alex sits in the dark with no food in the house and waits for his sister to find him.
Miss Darla Varney, an outskirts girl, can claim H-Ville residency just the same. She's not on the block as the rest, but her very best customers live on quiet cul-de-sacs.
I got teary-eyed at work the other day. It caught me off-guard. Then I remembered 8/12 was coming up. It's not like you are ever far from my thoughts. That twinge of melancholia was a reminder of the day your Pa and I sent you off on your journey. I like to think your biological mother and Nado were on the other side to meet you. Likewise, I bet you and Maggie were the first pals Daisy saw when she followed your paw prints. May you all be happily chicken leggin' it in the sun, with the stray french fry or two conveniently dropped in front of you.
On other news from the earthly plane, the family pack now includes ginormous miniature schnauzer Chloe and a gentleman from Mississippi named Toby. Sure wish you were around to be a pack leader. That Chloe needs a firm, Mama Schnauzer influence to guide her. And Lily's in the hall closet right now because of thunder, snuggled up in the sheepskin blanket that still so very much smells like you.
Ah girl, as always, it's hard not to cry when I type these yearly check-ins. You were, and shall remain, my Stinky Twinkie/spirit animal/furry burglar alarm.
One more thing before I sign off: This guy recently moved into the neighborhood. Say hello. You've both walked along the same shoreline.
A fistful of feathers will get us up and over and down the mountain, but all that downy comfort may not a transformative journey make. What's the sense in descending upon a foregone conclusion? We are explorers with our manila envelopes crammed with crumpled notes, extra pair of socks and love of getting lost. We shall continue to take our steps in the direction(s) we're meant to go. The end result will surely be the byproduct of following our hearts and never having had a clue.
How's your journey coming along? Have you added another page to your Summer Soliloquy? I came to visit you last night. The wall I jumped was 10 feet tall. And when I got to the front door? You'd moved your mountain even higher into the clouds. At least you left me toeholds and cedar pegs to ascend my ass to your relocated Welcome mat. I'll keep on climbing as long as you keep on evading. I don't take it personally, though. You are trapped between worlds and a citizen of none. Your mastery over everything and nothing at all makes you qualified to own, in three easy payments, my unknowable heart.
The Filchers don't care. You are just in their way. We're not real to them. Things, though. Things breathe, and feel, and transmit messages to us when we're fast asleep. Take that house on the corner, for example. It whispers a reedy greeting each time you pass by. "Hallooo Yoo." Things know us by how we use them. They remember us by smell and by touch. The doorbell of the house on the corner never forgot how you rang it and ran when you were eight years old.
Hallooo Yoo.
The door opens.
Tiny bumps erupt on a borrowed body.
What? You waiting for an invitation?
I know you didn't think much of her when we brought her home, but Lily's still looking for you. In the closet. She's in there right now because a big, bad thunderstorm rolled through here a few minutes ago. She hates them now, just like you did. Funny how she never minded the wind and ka-booms when you were here. In fact, she stayed close to you when you were shakin' and shiverin'. In the closet. Lily has turned into you. I feel bad she doesn't have a furry friend to help her through the scary times. (Oh, by the way...we changed Lily's kibble. You'd like it. Salmon & Sweet Potato!)
Anyway, you know I can't let the 12th of August pass without a few fond words of remembrance. You were my cell site buddy and all-around Big Meanie.
Your Ma & Pa miss you, too.
There are always "What if...?" moments. Some scenarios are simple; take a walk instead of a nap. Stay an extra ten minutes at work. Grab coffee with someone you haven't seen in a while vs. stay home with the TV for company. These seemingly disparate pieces of everyday life are like champagne bubbles. They'll gather, gain strength, and pop whatever proposition lay hidden in the bushes ready to pounce. It's all on you what happens next, but don't go and cause trouble with giant, cuvée-swilling tabby cats.
As if.
Can we ever know for sure what is really, truly meant to be?
cool weather makes a blue friday better. pull on some spirit. wear ya hair big. this rowdy crowd of 1 looks like a mix of medusa and rudolph. optical illusions for the win.
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