The Sun Always Rises

Over the course of the past year the day-to-day routine has seemed more like a grind than ever before. We have been told to cover our faces and stay away from others. While the short-term benefits of such may have been well-intentioned, the long-term impact is something I fear will be something some will never get over.

The past year had to gone on though. We learned to adapt to do things we had to do every day just so things could seem as normal as possible. It was all the same but in a different way. Despite moving on in the best way we could, looking back, some things seem lost.

In this last, lost year, we lost friends and family, and because of fear, we could not grieve them as we normally would. How hard will that piece of being mortal, just being human, be to get back? We lost some civility during the past year, didn't we? We already had greatly squandered this commodity, mostly on politics, so losing more of it was something we should have really considered. We tested friendships over whether or not to wear masks. Was it a loss of freedom to have to wear a mask? Some seemed more than willing to report some one to the authorities over not wearing a mask than they were to report an actual crime.

Now and then I would see something that reminded me that not all is lost.

Working from home one recent morning, my day started with helping Jennifer and Hannah get out the door for work and school. After the rush-rush of that hour finished, I stood at the living room window. A moment later, I saw Jennifer's car, with the two of them inside, pull up to our street to leave. As they turned out of our driveway, my eyes followed them, There as the car drove away from our house, I noticed they were driving into a spectacular sunrise.

With a right turn onto another street, they disappeared from my sight. I could only keep looking at the sky. I opened the front door stepping onto our porch just so I could get a better glimpse of the view before my eyes. Maybe, I was outside in an attempt to get a bit closer to the source.

No matter how the past year has unfolded, it unfolded as it always has in some ways. One day always followed another day. One distinct season always followed another distinct season. Each morning, sunrise came, whether hidden behind clouds or unobstructed in front of a blue sky. Each evening, sunset came, cloudy or otherwise.

In all the bickering, vitriol, anger, and confusion our world seems to sink deeper into each day, that sunrise, and it's continual presence serves as a reminder that life goes on despite these things that easily distract us. It speaks how life is more than arguing a point of view, no matter how "right" a body thinks they are. It is more than just the routine someone exercises each day to get from point A to point B. It more than supersedes any new normal any one can claim. It is a shame how sometimes it has to nudge us in a spectacular way even though it is there every day without fail.

Because of the tender mercy of our God, whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace."
~Luke 1: 78, 79

Road Trip: Jackson

After graduating college, I lived in Jackson, Tennessee, home of the Golden Circle, Casey Jones Village, the Red Dog Saloon, and Carl Perkins. I secured a job with a local television station working evenings on three live broadcasts five days a week. The pay wasn't much but, as is often said, my foot was in the door.

I had attended college about thirty minutes away, so I was familiar with Jackson. It was the weekend getaway from the books and studying. It was the place to take a date on a Friday night. So, when I actually moved there I became more aware of what the city offered. I already understood I was comfortable here, so if the work stayed steady then this could become home.

Work became the reason I left there. The station had some ongoing legal issues and seemed poorly operated on a few levels. The main problem for me, and many of my co-workers, was the parent company would issue our checks late every other Thursday. Often, they told us to hold the check until Monday because the account they were drawing money from might not have enough funds to cover payroll. This happened enough times that summer that a few of us rewrote the lyrics to Terence Trent D'Arby's song, "Sign Your Name (Across My Heart)" to "Sign Your Name (Across My Check)." So, just before Thanksgiving, having located a job in my hometown, I moved back to Georgia.

Still, looking back I had about six months in Jackson. I rented my first apartment. The lady I rented from was named Annette, except she pronounced her name A-net. For my job, I covered a rodeo in nearby Lexington. I also covered an election in Union City, and the world's largest milkshake at the start of my college's fall semester. I hung out with friends. I waved to Carl Perkins in a catfish restaurant once. I learned a lot about myself in those days.

There were times I made a few road trips. When I was searching for a new job, I took several trips back to Georgia. Most of these were trips I made overnight. When my work week ended on Friday night about 11, I had my car loaded for a weekend road trip. Fueled on Mountain Dew and Little Debbie snack cakes, I barreled down the interstate in the dark of the night. I suppose the great thing about being in your early-twenties then was how I never second-guessed the sanity of doing this. I am not sure I would try this now. Anyway, I would pull into my parents' driveway early Saturday morning. My Mom usually worked on Saturday and my Dad usually had chores to do, so I found a bed and crashed until midday. Over the weekend though, I enjoyed being back home and visiting family and friends there. Early Monday morning, I loaded up my car and made the trip back to Jackson, most of it in daylight.

There came a time when I gave notice to my employer. They owed me parts of pay for six weeks when I left (spoiler alert: they eventually paid all of us what we earned). I remember that final day of work. I recall calling a friend to say goodbye. I remember that day was rainy. Autumn's leaves stuck to the pavement in the wetness. I left for work early that day just so I could revisit some of the old haunts one last time, if only in a passing car. I drove by the movie theatre, the mall, the Siam Room Chinese restaurant ("Welcome back!"), the Mexican drive-thru I sometimes visited after work, and other places that have now blended into time and memory. I went to work for the final time there, and, later after work, made a trip back to Georgia.

I've been back to Jackson several times through the years even though it has been a long time since my last visit there. I remember that place and my time there fondly, and on occasion, I miss those days. Of course, that place has changed from the way I remember. I am grateful though I can remember that place the way I do, a nice stop along the way in my life's journey.

Playlist for Road Trip: Jackson
Johnny Cash and June Carter: "Jackson"
Carl Perkins "Blue Suede Shoes"
Rob Jungklas "Memphis Thing"
Dwight Yoakam and Buck Owens "Streets of Bakersfield"
John Kilzer "Memory in the Making"
Jimmy Davis and Junction "Kick The Wall"
Blue Tears "Rockin' With The Radio"
Rosanne Cash "Runaway Train"
Tracy Chapman "Fast Car"
Cheap Trick "The Flame"
Keith Richards: "Take It So Hard"
John Hiatt: "Drive South"

How We Do Friday Night

 A recent Friday night, 7:00 P.M.

We're in for the night here. Yep, we are calling it a day this early even if the weekend has just started. Now while I have never been much of weekend warrior, previous Friday nights played out differently than tonight.

In high school years, a Friday night might have meant a football game or driving through our hometown for hours on end. In college, it might have meant hanging out with the gang or an occasional date. At other times in my life, a Friday night meant work.

Friday nights now are about our family. Usually it means a collective sigh of relief that we have made it through another week of school and work. It might mean leftovers from the refrigerator or pizza delivered to our door. Sometimes it might mean a movie or family game night.

This particular Friday, Jennifer had to work late. This meant Hannah and I were on our own most of the evening. I picked up Hannah from school with plans already thought out. Since the little girl likes pizza and is usually famished at the end of a school day, I planned an early supper at a local pizza joint. Hannah was all for it.

We pulled into the pizza parlor parking lot while the sun was still a brilliant yellow in the sky. I had already envisioned several things about this venture. I knew how we had to order. I knew how we had to get our drinks. I knew we then had to locate a table or booth. Soon enough, all that went as planned.

I ordered a salad. I knew before ordering how my guest would most likely help me pick through it. I knew the good stuff, the cheese and the cucumbers were very likely to find their way into her grasp. Tonight, she also absconded with the mushrooms. Then, disaster struck.

She picked up her soft drink, which was in a paper cup with a plastic lid. The lid separated from the cup. Coca-Cola and ice splashed onto the table and into my lap. Some of the dark liquid made it's way into a small cup of ranch dressing. I imagine it took three dozen napkins to clear the mess. I had not planned for this yet I determined I would not allow such a mishap to ruin the time ahead.

Soon enough, our pizza arrived. I ordered Hannah two slices of cheese pizza. I ordered a large pizza for me, knowing much of it would be carried home so Jennifer could have a late Friday night dinner or we could all have a big lunch of leftovers Saturday. It was all delicious.

During our time eating, Hannah looked at me once and told me to ask her if she was having a good time. I asked her at that moment and received a thumbs up. After eating some on one of her slices, I asked Hannah if she wanted a slice of the big pizza. She did and she ate about half a slice. About that time, she reminded me to ask her again about whether she was having a good time or not. Another thumbs up.

It wasn't long before we were boxing up the leftover pizza and on our way home. We got here as the sun began sliding behind the mountains to the west. The rest of the evening was pretty basic, a Disney movie and a Hannah FaceTime call with one of her friends from school.

Meantime, I sat soaking in another Friday night. I flipped through past years thinking how this night of each week was magical in some way that at that moment meant so much. Now though looking back over this day I think about hearing Hannah tell me about her day. I think about the time at dinner when we laughed and ate. I think about how these days are so special, more special than I deserve and much more special than I ever imagined they could be. Thumbs up in every way.