Crying

Michael wonders about crying:

Two days ago in the gym, some damn song came on the radio about giving love one more chance, so I had to walk of the room and quietly weep on the stairs. I was nervous the whole time that someone would come up behind me.

So here I was, one day a week ago or so, driving home after a long run along the lake. I was exhausted, weak, hungry, sore and tired. As I rounded the bend in the road, to my left was the Austin High School marching band practicing in the sun in the parking lot. There were golden susaphones glittering in the sun; there were drums rattling off marching cadences; there was a line of flags fluttering from the poles of the drill team. The band was arrayed in crisp squads of four. I broke into tears and couldn't make myself stop.

At least for Michael it was about love. At least he was at the gym!

4:05:25 PM   permalink: []   feedback:   comments: []  

Morning Fog

I woke up on this morning as I often do, stiff, congested, feeling the mold and pollen in the air. In such a state, it is impossible to move, impossible to think, and especially impossible to smile. I am not a morning person, anyway. All I could do was sit up against the head of the bed. And wait.

Trudy came in the room. She had been up a long time, as is usually the case in the morning, here. She came in the room and smiled and offered a hug and a kiss when she saw me sitting there. It was the kind of greeting we were always presented with when I was young.

When we were kids and we ventured out of our beds into the dining rooms or living rooms or back yards of our childhoods, our mothers and aunts and our grandmother would always stop what they were doing. They would set down their coffee cups. They would stop spooning jelly on their toast. They would suspend their conversations and would turn to us and exclaim, Good morning, sunshine!

Each morning they did that for us when we gathered together, cousins and brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and grandparents. Christmas. Easter. Summer. Thanksgiving. Every morning they put aside their adult lives and welcomed the children into the world.

So this morning, Trudy did that for me, and those mornings of welcome and exclaim came rushing back. And I sat there stiff, as I did back then, waiting for the fog to lift. It was all I could do to muster the strength to walk into the dining room before she left for the day.

But now, the sun is out, throwing patches of light green onto the growing grass in the yard. The sky is blue, although a midwestern haze is turning the horizons brown. The leaves on the trees are rustling gently in some kind of early autumn breeze. And Trudy's coffee is hot in the pot.

I think I have waited long enough. It's finally time to start the day.

11:01:41 AM   permalink: []   feedback:   comments: []