Skip to main content

New perspective on a different day.

I remember that morning as a Pink Palace day. We went once a month for homeschool class and to feed quarters into the robotic triceratops. I slept little and woke anxious because I was worrying about not being prepared. I knew I would need to pack a lunch for four and two were annoyingly picky. I never could trust my head not to ache so I should remember to put that Advil in my bag. Would everyone be able to find their shoes? A pair had gone missing. In the back yard under the trampoline? Trying to get out the door on Pink Palace day was running up a landslide. To my mind.

My heart jumped into my throat when I opened the front door to let out Old Lady cat and discovered that our other cat, Happy, had left a disgusting prize on the mat. She was a teen then and the old lady was barely middle aged. The rat lay motionless with his eyes slightly open.

Don't anybody step on it because I am not touching it.

With the morning sleep in the corners of their eyes, I scooted little boys off to dress and brush and shod themselves. We were definitely going to be late. I had the baby one's little jeans and red, white and blue socks under my arm as I flipped on the TV. I called him to me. Can you bring your shoes so I can help you? The morning shows were on.

We had a new president. I missed my little boys on their weekends away. Lovin' Man worked a day job painting guitars and wrote songs in our yellow kitchen. My Big Son had recently learned to ride bike. I tried my hand at murals and assuming too much.

The reporter was saying something but his voice was muffled. I didn't understand what I was witnessing was from the inside of a helicopter. I wasn't familiar with the World Trade Center or the Second Tower but someone said New York. Then I watched as the second plane crash into the second tower and I was confused. Why did that just happen? I don't know if it was then or later but I thought I saw a person jump from a window. What in the Wide World? I reached for the phone as the anchor scrambled to find words suitable for a television broadcast.

As if a plane hadn't just followed another into a building full of people who should have a handle on exactly where Afghanistan is located. As if they could control the paranoia leaking into the lost promises for a generation. As if the smoke would ever clear.

Soon after that Pink Palace day, I looked out of my bedroom window. The sky was dark blue but neither dusk nor dawn distinguishable. Happy had given birth to a healthy batch of four kittens. She let me watch, encouraging this new life. I could hear them mewing desperately in the corner as she returned to their box. It occurred to me that it was time to buy some curtains. Overdue, really. After all, we don't live in our parents' house anymore.


Popular posts from this blog

Just get out the way, and let the gentleman do his thing.

Retired Memphis Police Department Chief Inspector Robert Jones came to my pool party the other day. Over hot dogs and fruit salad, he regaled his grandchildren with tales of his days in Special Services on the police force. That's SWAT to you and me.

Among those anecdotes, he spins a yarn that includes a tear gas capsule hidden on the motor of a car full of pimps and ladies of the night, effectively expelling these law breakers out of a Buick Electra 225, running crazy. Later, he would be appointed Chief Inspector, along with fellow officer James Bolden (who also served MPD director), climbing his way up the career ladder with an excellent work ethic. But, before all that, he was a regular joe on the beat, paying his dues. Only, this fiery, young Irishman was going to do it his way.

They called him The Flame. Not only for his ability to run like one but, there was also that shiny red hair. In his youth, his stubborn independence got him into some trouble so he channeled that and mad…

I was so scared to face my fears.

Why You even trust us with so much, I can't even imagine. We alternate between pumping triumphant fists in the air and rocking quietly in the corner, squeezy eyes and knitty brows, vulnerable to the next thing next. In a matter of weeks, issues that include extreme trauma, mental illness, genetic disorders, and tired, old grudges, which serve to poison the waters, pass through our hands. We stand, arm in arm, carefully considering whether we are meant to dodge or take the shots:What are we supposed to be to learning?
Can we set it gently to the side and move along?
Is this our burden to bear for a season?
Who is wearing hearts on sleeves?
and should we?It's hard to say in a world of emotions but I KNOW our hearts are true. Even in their ugliest states, we keep it real. Sometimes, we're all Daigle, inspired and fortified, but, as many times as not, we're blasting Adele, accidentally alienating the ones we love and raw as can be. Let's just keep the Gungors, Eminems …

You built me palaces out of paragraphs.

You're so sure I don't hear your words. Maybe you think there's too much weary history for me to contend with New & Fun. You hear told of the time before yours and sometimes you feel alone. Maybe you've even wondered if I'm still up to the challenge.
You assume too much, Love Child, because yours are the words I've been waiting for all my life.
So many words.
My time before you taught me to talk less and hear more but I sift through ALL your words and listen for your heart.
Without your words, how could I know that you sometimes say what you don't mean just because you feel too much to articulate?
Without your words, how could I know that you are unsure and insecure about who you might become?
How could I know, were I not listening, that you often hold back because you think it's not quite your time?
Without your words, how could I know how much you root for the underdog with a righteous anger?
Without your words, how could I know that you often …