The Silence of a Good Day in the Country

it was a long walk to the end of that driveway .. 

way out in the country where the silence felt heavy and the bus didn't wait for slow moving kids ..

sometimes we just didn't make it in time .. maybe we didn't want to make it .. 

because missing the bus meant a day in the house with Momma. she was a movie star in my eyes .. fiery auburn hair like rita hayworth and that lucille ball look about her .. even in the morning she had that glow .. she didn't seem to mind when the bus dust settled and we were still standing there .. 

she would just start puttering in the kitchen like she’d been waiting for us to stay. the smell of the kitchen changed on those mornings .. 

she’d slide the bread into the oven and you could totally smell that sweet creamy butter melting .. the cinnamon and sugar caramelizing into the crust while the Dr Pepper bubbled in our glasses .. 

i remember the sound the gas stove would make when she lit the pilot light and the heat it would generate on those frosty mornings .. 

i don't remember if we even had an electric toaster but she always used that oven. 

we’d sit Indian style around the big coffee table in the living room .. watching captain kangaroo in the quiet of a country morning .. 

sister and bubba and me with becky still a baby .. renee and kevin weren't even a thought yet .. 

feeling like we’d pulled one over on the world .. 

Momma just humming and moving through the house .. her movie star hair catching the light through the window .. we were way out there in the country, just us, and that was exactly where she wanted us to be.

if we misbehaved it was always - wait til your Daddy gets home .. 

but if we were good that day we got the treat of extra special care .. a head in her lap as she absentmindedly brushed her fingers through our hair and 'cleaned out our ears' .. lol .. 

she’d be humming while we sat there in the warmth of that gas stove .. then when Daddy did get home, she would always look at us as if to say - keep your mouth shut - 

and scurry us out of his path before the mood could change.

the empty aisles

i spent the morning wishing i was scouting.

usually, on a saturday, i’m in the thick of it. i spend hours looking at mid-century tiles and spanish pottery, my eyes trained to find the value in things people decided they didn't need anymore. but today, the "scouting" is all in my head. i’m sitting here, and the gear-shift is jarring. i’m not looking at price tags today; i’m looking at a family tree that has seen better days.

there is a strange, quiet thrum that comes with being 68. you look around and realize the crowd has thinned. we were a pack once—two brothers, three sisters, and the parents who held the map. now, the map is folded up. my parents are gone. my older sister and brother are gone. my middle sister is gone.

it’s just three of us left now. a brother, a sister, and me.

it makes you feel like a "limited edition" in a way that isn't nearly as fun as finding a signed print at the salvation army. you start to wonder who is holding the memories of the 1960s—the specific way the kitchen smelled or the sound of the screen door slamming—if there are fewer and fewer people left to say, "yeah, i remember that."

and then there’s monday.

a triple bypass isn't exactly the kind of "spontaneous" event the name of this blog usually implies. it’s a different kind of being rash. it’s the kind where you have to be brave because there are still stories to tell and goods to scout.

i’m headed into surgery with a lot of ghosts behind me, but i’m leaning on the ones who are still standing here with me.