A veil of gathering darkness surrounds every step. Even though it’s just early July, it seems as if the summer has been here for months and, at this moment, it feels as if this summer has no end. The smell of freshly cut grass jams into my nostrils. The hot sticky summer air lays a thin line of perspiration all over my face, arms, legs and everywhere else where sweat pores reside. The dampness from my skin then magnetizes my clothes to the rest of my body. The sounds of tiny creatures all around, a summer night’s symphony, pound away in my ears like drums in the distance, seemingly amplified by the inevitable darkness. A soft, glassy moon shines high in the sky while the stars, set against a majestic purple backdrop, begin to leisurely twinkle.
I could be doing so many other things right now. I could be listening to the hum of an ice cream maker mixing together ingredients for a tasty treat. I could be eating a slice of cold lightly salted watermelon taking time to spit the seeds as far as I can just before watermelon juice dribbles down my chin. I could have stretched my body across the front porch swing until the swing’s swaying and creaking lull me into a state of near unconsciousness. I could have turned on AM radio and located a baseball game to listen to like I did in days gone by, letting the announcers paint into my imagination each pitch, each swing. I could be inside the house slowly letting the air conditioning crush the summer heat.
Instead, here I am. My fingers wrap around the oversized glass in my hand. My hand sweats from the stifling humidity. My steps are deliberate, methodical, measured. My bare feet tread lightly on the ground as I scoff at the thought of wearing shoes outdoors during the summer.
Just one more I tell myself. Just one more.
Moths dance around the dim front porch light throwing odd patterns of shadow against the side of the house. A shard of light streams through a window pane from inside the house and as I glance in that direction I find it difficult for my eyes to adjust to the varied range of lights as I also try to focus on my mission.
I know it is too late to be here. I know I should call it a night.
But, it’s summer. Summer. And I tell myself again, just one more.
Suddenly, my wish comes true. I thrust out my hand and after a couple of swipes my prey is taken into custody. I acknowledge my persistence and skill by muttering ‘I told you just one more’. Quickly, the lid comes off the glass jar in my hand and I push my capture inside with all the others I have collected on this night. Just as quickly, I return the lid to the jar being careful not to place the full weight of my hand on the jagged holes I have punched there with a pair of scissors while being just as careful not to let any of my bounty escape.
I stand back and raise the glass just above my line of sight into the space at the very end of my hand. In the darkness I admire all the tiny lights flickering on and off inside the jar. I feel my senses exploding. The smell of grass becomes mingled with the earthy perfume lightning bugs give off when they rest on your hand. The sounds of the night grow louder only to fade away without notice. The hot sticky summer air seems so strong I can almost feel it bearing down on me, yet I feel re-energized. Nature’s light, for a moment, seems muted by the glass jar in my hand and the tiny lights glistening inside. Then, a small smile comes across my face and I faintly see that smile in the reflection on the outside of the jar I hold in my hand.
I bring the jar closer to me. Suddenly, I open the jar, shaking it gently, encouraging each lightning bug to escape. As tiny wings flutter to flight, all the bugs flee to freedom from the jar except for one. I tap on the side of the jar then reach out my hand as if to nudge him to leave his temporary home. He hops onto my hand, crawls around there for a moment and then, all at once, flies away, turning his light on and off to match the rhythm of my very own heart. As I watch the bug take wing away from me, I feel my smile stretch even wider than before.
It’s summer. Summer. Just one more summer.
7.06.2009
7.01.2009
Free
Holidays come and go. For so many of us all we really know about them anymore is that we don’t have to go to work on a holiday. We even tend to minimize some holidays by not really referring to them as maybe they should be. For instance, we often call that holiday in early July as simply, the Fourth of July, instead of Independence Day.
We also seem to get more caught up in the traditions of the holiday than the real reason for the holiday. I’m all for traditions, don’t misunderstand me there. I’ll probably spend time with some family that day. I’ll likely enjoy a barbeque on this day as much as the next guy. I’ll probably ooh and ahh at the fireworks in the night sky. But looking back I know I rarely find myself really thinking about the reason for the holiday during the holiday.
Maybe this year I will pause to remember a bit about this place called home, America. Maybe, I’ll remember how hundreds of years ago courageous people determined that freedom from tyranny was worth a fight and their lives. Maybe I’ll remember how those freedoms were considered precious enough to spell out in writing so that a clear direction for this country could be specified for later generations to understand and appreciate. Maybe, I’ll remember how time after time when others have decided our country was an enemy how my fellow countrymen, brave people, stood up to defend our borders, our way of life, our freedoms. Maybe, I’ll even stand in amazement at how we are so free that some of us can live in freedom and still despise it so much that we take that freedom for granted, all the while choking on the fruits that those freedoms provide, a nice job, a nice house, a future, and an opportunity to dissent.
America is not perfect. She is flawed. Still, no other place offers what she offers. There is no other place I would rather be, especially on a hot July 4th.
"We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America."
We also seem to get more caught up in the traditions of the holiday than the real reason for the holiday. I’m all for traditions, don’t misunderstand me there. I’ll probably spend time with some family that day. I’ll likely enjoy a barbeque on this day as much as the next guy. I’ll probably ooh and ahh at the fireworks in the night sky. But looking back I know I rarely find myself really thinking about the reason for the holiday during the holiday.
Maybe this year I will pause to remember a bit about this place called home, America. Maybe, I’ll remember how hundreds of years ago courageous people determined that freedom from tyranny was worth a fight and their lives. Maybe I’ll remember how those freedoms were considered precious enough to spell out in writing so that a clear direction for this country could be specified for later generations to understand and appreciate. Maybe, I’ll remember how time after time when others have decided our country was an enemy how my fellow countrymen, brave people, stood up to defend our borders, our way of life, our freedoms. Maybe, I’ll even stand in amazement at how we are so free that some of us can live in freedom and still despise it so much that we take that freedom for granted, all the while choking on the fruits that those freedoms provide, a nice job, a nice house, a future, and an opportunity to dissent.
America is not perfect. She is flawed. Still, no other place offers what she offers. There is no other place I would rather be, especially on a hot July 4th.
"We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America."
6.24.2009
We Are Who We Are, Part 4
While I wished I could have stayed overnight at my parents house, I knew I would have to leave not long after the funeral. I would have to return to work the next day. Staying and then driving back in the morning would just be too much of a task. Before I left though, Mom, Dad and I went out to grab a bite of supper.
We drove into my hometown. It has changed a lot over the years and, of course, it seems it has changed most since I moved away. Once there, we drove to a restaurant we had patronized many times before because despite some change being so obvious there are some things which do not change, especially when it comes to eating places my parents frequent. We ordered and soon thereafter ate, briefly catching up on each other’s lives since the last time we had been able to do so. As the afternoon crept up on the evening, we returned to Mom and Dad’s house.
I stayed a few minutes longer than I planned to stay, lingering as I often do at this place especially when I know I should be on the road. I knew I had to get home, there waited my wife and there waited other obligations and commitments. Still, I lingered, seeing family I rarely see anymore made questions and feelings about them bubble up inside. As I continued to linger, I felt a slight pull inside me, a pull that seemed to tell me that somehow part of me is here, that part of me is always here and when I leave here, part of me stays behind. Despite that pull, despite the questions and feelings, I eventually hugged Mom and Dad goodbye. I walked the concrete walkway in front of the house that has been there longer than I can remember, got into my car and pulled away, still with many questions and feelings unresolved.
Alone on the drive home, with the radio turned down, I spent some time thinking. As I weaved deep into the mountains down a serpentine road, the late autumn wind melded with the shadows of the hills and the approaching nighttime and it all seemed to become one with my thoughts. I had spent a whirlwind day with family. We gathered to lament a loved one. We shared some time together in one of the most raw, real moments life can hand any family. Now, away from the events of the day, away from the seriousness of the day, I chuckled at some of the things I observed, surmising only my family could make me smile and shake my head over certain things.
Memories inside me stirred like dust in a windstorm. I reached out beyond my memory’s outstretched arms to try to reign in names and times long forgotten. I wondered about things I didn’t know anything about as it relates to my family, things stashed away in our collective past, hidden on purpose or just forgotten for a spell.
My mind drifted back to some yesterdays ago. I revisited cold well water, my grandparent’s kitchen table, a piano my aunts would let me pound away on when we visited on Sunday afternoons and an organ I only dared to view from a distance. I remembered walks to the top of the mountain for apples, the dipping ladle at the pond, the tractor my grandfather used until he was no longer able to walk and cane-bottomed chairs propped against the wall. I recalled hog killings on the coldest day of winter, the smell of tobacco hanging in the barn, my grandmother’s butter churn, lots and lots of flowers springing from the ground and even an outhouse we used before indoor plumbing. All these things raced through my mind as if it were only yesterday.
Beyond all that, I longed to hear the laughter of my cousins, the jokes of my aunts and uncles and the common-sense and learned lessons gained from years of living a simple life that my grandparents could share. I ached to just go back for a bit to that time, that place, those people. I wanted to know again, I wanted to really appreciate just one last time, how life was before the time when I began to understanding how harsh life can become from time to time, like when one of our own dies.
As I neared home, I glanced in the rearview mirror. For a moment, my eyes locked in on my reflection. I realized then any questions burning in my mind would stay there for now, unanswered. I quickly let that thought escape my mind. I scrambled back to thoughts of the day’s events. I couldn’t help but begin to wonder again. Why does life turns out as it does? Why do we turn out the way we do? How can we be related by blood and be so much alike? How can we be related by blood and be so different? Why does being around these people make me consider so many of these things?
As my car’s headlights hit our street, I felt that pull inside me that I felt at my Mom and Dad’s house except this time it was pulling me on into our driveway. It pulled me in because part of me is here even when I am away. It was the end of the trip and it was time to put the day behind me.
I found myself wishing I had answers to all the questions the day had created. The questions though seem to outnumber any answers I discover and just spawn more questions. I know though I can’t really answer the questions for anyone else but myself. Frankly, I wouldn’t want to answer for anyone else anyway. Besides, this was just one side of my family, there’s a whole other family out there that also spent some time and effort shaping me into whoever I am. All these things do not keep me from speculating though. It doesn’t keep those questions and other questions from popping up from time to time, especially when trying to better understand why things turn out as they do, why I have turned out the way I have.
Although all the puzzle pieces don’t yet fit, I know enough to understand that no matter where I go, no matter what I do in life, I’m never very far away from that time, that place, those people, those yesterdays ago. I have come to realize I can’t get the red north Georgia clay off the bottom of my bare feet. I know I can’t stop my family’s blood from running through my veins, even if I wanted to try, because at the end of the road, at the end of the day, at the end of it all, my family is who they are. And, I am who I am.
We drove into my hometown. It has changed a lot over the years and, of course, it seems it has changed most since I moved away. Once there, we drove to a restaurant we had patronized many times before because despite some change being so obvious there are some things which do not change, especially when it comes to eating places my parents frequent. We ordered and soon thereafter ate, briefly catching up on each other’s lives since the last time we had been able to do so. As the afternoon crept up on the evening, we returned to Mom and Dad’s house.
I stayed a few minutes longer than I planned to stay, lingering as I often do at this place especially when I know I should be on the road. I knew I had to get home, there waited my wife and there waited other obligations and commitments. Still, I lingered, seeing family I rarely see anymore made questions and feelings about them bubble up inside. As I continued to linger, I felt a slight pull inside me, a pull that seemed to tell me that somehow part of me is here, that part of me is always here and when I leave here, part of me stays behind. Despite that pull, despite the questions and feelings, I eventually hugged Mom and Dad goodbye. I walked the concrete walkway in front of the house that has been there longer than I can remember, got into my car and pulled away, still with many questions and feelings unresolved.
Alone on the drive home, with the radio turned down, I spent some time thinking. As I weaved deep into the mountains down a serpentine road, the late autumn wind melded with the shadows of the hills and the approaching nighttime and it all seemed to become one with my thoughts. I had spent a whirlwind day with family. We gathered to lament a loved one. We shared some time together in one of the most raw, real moments life can hand any family. Now, away from the events of the day, away from the seriousness of the day, I chuckled at some of the things I observed, surmising only my family could make me smile and shake my head over certain things.
Memories inside me stirred like dust in a windstorm. I reached out beyond my memory’s outstretched arms to try to reign in names and times long forgotten. I wondered about things I didn’t know anything about as it relates to my family, things stashed away in our collective past, hidden on purpose or just forgotten for a spell.
My mind drifted back to some yesterdays ago. I revisited cold well water, my grandparent’s kitchen table, a piano my aunts would let me pound away on when we visited on Sunday afternoons and an organ I only dared to view from a distance. I remembered walks to the top of the mountain for apples, the dipping ladle at the pond, the tractor my grandfather used until he was no longer able to walk and cane-bottomed chairs propped against the wall. I recalled hog killings on the coldest day of winter, the smell of tobacco hanging in the barn, my grandmother’s butter churn, lots and lots of flowers springing from the ground and even an outhouse we used before indoor plumbing. All these things raced through my mind as if it were only yesterday.
Beyond all that, I longed to hear the laughter of my cousins, the jokes of my aunts and uncles and the common-sense and learned lessons gained from years of living a simple life that my grandparents could share. I ached to just go back for a bit to that time, that place, those people. I wanted to know again, I wanted to really appreciate just one last time, how life was before the time when I began to understanding how harsh life can become from time to time, like when one of our own dies.
As I neared home, I glanced in the rearview mirror. For a moment, my eyes locked in on my reflection. I realized then any questions burning in my mind would stay there for now, unanswered. I quickly let that thought escape my mind. I scrambled back to thoughts of the day’s events. I couldn’t help but begin to wonder again. Why does life turns out as it does? Why do we turn out the way we do? How can we be related by blood and be so much alike? How can we be related by blood and be so different? Why does being around these people make me consider so many of these things?
As my car’s headlights hit our street, I felt that pull inside me that I felt at my Mom and Dad’s house except this time it was pulling me on into our driveway. It pulled me in because part of me is here even when I am away. It was the end of the trip and it was time to put the day behind me.
I found myself wishing I had answers to all the questions the day had created. The questions though seem to outnumber any answers I discover and just spawn more questions. I know though I can’t really answer the questions for anyone else but myself. Frankly, I wouldn’t want to answer for anyone else anyway. Besides, this was just one side of my family, there’s a whole other family out there that also spent some time and effort shaping me into whoever I am. All these things do not keep me from speculating though. It doesn’t keep those questions and other questions from popping up from time to time, especially when trying to better understand why things turn out as they do, why I have turned out the way I have.
Although all the puzzle pieces don’t yet fit, I know enough to understand that no matter where I go, no matter what I do in life, I’m never very far away from that time, that place, those people, those yesterdays ago. I have come to realize I can’t get the red north Georgia clay off the bottom of my bare feet. I know I can’t stop my family’s blood from running through my veins, even if I wanted to try, because at the end of the road, at the end of the day, at the end of it all, my family is who they are. And, I am who I am.
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