That Buick of mine was a hot ride. Though there was only a few of us who thought so. We kept it clean and always had somewhere to go.
We watch the time pass so fast it hurts. Kids without T-shirts. Moms in a bleached stained skirt. It’s a whirl wind we’re living.
Yesterday: two years ago
In the rear window the dads were dying.
It all started yesterday at Jon Morrow senior’s funeral- or celebration of life as they now call them. Brothers recited memories and cried like babies again, but momma’s been gone for years. Tears, strength, faith in heaven and respect for death filled the room like a gas station apothecary; everything anyone could need was there for the spiritual taking. The lobby hosted a two fold billboard with pictures of the deceased and his loved ones loving life. Stern smiles and faded history.
There was a lot of talk about life yesterday. And yes, good talk about life always includes that of death, and afterlife and…holy shit there is a fly buzzing around my truck right now that I want to kill so fucking bad, that it’s almost made me lose my train of thought. …runaway train.
Then the conversation last night at my parent’s house drifted quickly from me stealing my dad’s Lance tuck in my teens to everyone talking about heaven: the final resting place and what it’s really like. I admit: it made me feel uncomfortable. –Not because I have a problem with the thought of after life or death or any of that…It was just the first time I heard my mother talk about her vision of arriving in heaven… and hell no I’m not going to share what it is with you; no offense but you’re just a reader- I’m sharing my thoughts and feelings with you… not my mother’s. I found a proper time to leave and did so; saying good byes to a room full of loved ones; who; thank god are still alive and present in my life, let me never take for granted those that surround me physically on a daily basis whom I some day will inevitably miss. That line just typed itself and sorry but there is no going back on it.
The window before us, though maybe dirty, open, shut or blinded, we can still see through. Even if the panes were painted black we could break them out and get a vision… and yes, even the blind have the visions that I speak of; a way of looking at things, a sense of what is here and what the days taste like we are in control of; at least to a point this physical view. It’s not a matter of fate, it’s a matter of the decisions we have made as humans, up and out of bed, shoes on or where to go, or at the least: what to think about.
It was a good night’s sleep and today I still noticed everything a little bit differently: the steeples poked out of the autumn peaks invitingly but I did not stop. We were on a mission of our own, my son and his pal ate Margaret’s pancakes and went off on a Sunday morning road trip. The truck was full of skateboards, good will and instinct. We stopped at roadside ditches and stole some lines. We climbed campground sculptures and ignored Colin’s fever. Forever let me live life like this, making moods and time to miss.