The Past in a Box

I finally opened the box. The box of pictures that I brought home and put in a corner. The box of pictures that was my Grandmother’s past. My mother’s past. My own. I opened it to explore and learn what I am all about. Where I came from.

One of the pictures I assume is of the Panama Canal. Where my Grandfather was for a short time with the Army Air Corp. And on the back a note scribbled to my Grandmother so long ago. And over the note there is black scrapbook paper no longer connected to the book that is long gone. As I sat and tried to patiently uncover the words I felt an energy. A piece of my Grandfather coming from the pen he used to mark it. I was taken by the sudden sense that these were his words. They were written with a love for another that no one should die without knowing. I watched as the letters unfolded, how they curved and formed words and looked alot like my own writing. I wondered why it seemed the last word was please, as if he were begging her. If the love notes he wrote on these pictures he sent made my Grandmother blush. Her heart pound. He loved her like no other.

The note says

April 24th 1938
To Mae
From Mason
please write real often
An I will write when ever I can and as often
please

He missed her. She was just 21. A wonderful time in her long life.

A Real Comedian

Daughter says some funny stuff.

I was on the phone with my brother and son comes in, he asks who I am talking to. I don’t answer. He asks daughter, she says without missing a beat, “She’s talking to God.”

Laying in bed trying to get the kid’s to settle down in the glow of the night light. Daughter sets up and looks at my face, “Your face is scary.” (Notice no exclamation mark. She was dead serious.)

In the kitchen, son comes to show me a pop-tart. “Where’d you get that?” I say. Right on cue, daughter pipes in, “He got it outta my butt!” And enter hysterical laughter.

Just another day.

I know, I know,

today is what if Friday. It’s at the end.

But first let me tell you about an eye opening experience. I was standing in line at the post office and that is common in this town. There is always a line. So in comes a lady with three little girls ranging from I’d say four to seven? The minute she was behind me she started. “Baby don’t touch that.” “get over her sweetie.” ” Stop that!” And I got to thinking how fortunate I was to have been able to leave my kid’s at home. I thought about how I have stood in this very post office with five children and I let them look around a bit more. Scribble on the back of a form with the pen-on-a-chain. How crazy I was by the time I got in the car everyone safe and nothing left behind broken. So I thought to myself, “Maybe you could let her step ahead of you. She only has one thing in her hand.” And then she dealt the deal breaker, “You’re gonna piss me off! You want the knuckle breaker?” First I decided that she can just wait. And then I thought what the hell is a knuckle breaker? But I truly didn’t want to know. I actually contemplated asking her, but then I thought I may have an opinion. That wouldn’t turn out so hot, especially in a quiet little post office. As we inched forward I then heard her say, through her teeth, “Let me know when it starts to hurt.” My heart was breaking, I wanted to turn around, I wanted to meddle in her business. They were just being kid’s. No one cried. I stepped up to plate, got my package out and when I turned she was gone. I felt relieved. But as I was pulling away I had to pass her shooing her children into her car and I glared at her. What I have learned from this is that you never know how you are being perceived. Maybe she was really stressed out. Maybe she had no one to let them home with. Maybe she had a really rotten day and this was the last straw. Maybe, just maybe she was actually a nice person. I tend to think not, judging by the fear the one little girl expressed when she heard the mere mention of the knuckle breaker. But you never know.

What if John Lennon was on to something?

Chilly on the outside, Warm and cozy on the inside.

We had an ice storm yesterday. I braved the cold and went out to snap a few pictures with my camera that I have gained a little respect for. It was a wonderful day, I didn’t have to leave the house once. I had my little ones home with me like old times. There was fighting and commotion and chicken nuggets. I thoroughly enjoyed having them home from school even though we did nothing all that special. In fact I sat around till almost lunch time nursing myself. I have one of those colds’ where it sucks the energy from your very bones. Where one side of your face feels like you had golf balls inserted through your ear. The kind that makes you sneeze earth shattering sized sneezes.

I sat and watched as everyone’s schedule was momentarily thrown askew. To see how everyone adjusts to a change in plans. I noticed that the twin’s still expected to do writing and coloring and the littlest still expected to have buckets full of attention dumped upon him in regular intervals. I wish there were a world of ice outside my door so that I could have them with me just a little more.

They make me laugh.

They amaze me.

They are what I breathe, still.

I can’t live without them.

The Path Not Taken

Yesterday I was melancholy. I even looked up the definition. I wasn’t depressed but I was sort of sad. Now today I am just happy. And you wouldn’t believe why. What tiny little thing brightened my day. Steve’s post about being unhappy is the same as being ungrateful. I am grateful for everything I have. I don’t have much, but I have more than enough. Can you say that about yourself?

I often wonder, as I think all of us do from time to time, what could have been. Where could I be. Am I happy here opposed to where I could have ended up. I have been at war with myself for sometime because not so long ago I could have made a very sharp turn in life and yet I chose this one. I chose to be a stay at home mom. A wife. A good girl. I don’t drink. I pay my bills. I love my kid’s unconditionally. But I could have been a mom of two. A wife to a much older man. I could maybe even of had a career. That made money. I wouldn’t be driving the mini van. I would have a decent wardrobe. I would have probably been a little more of a drinker. Would I have been happy? Would I have known what I was missing out on by not choosing this path I did in fact choose?

My war is this. The older man. I miss him. I miss things about him I do not have here with my hubby. And the thing is I don’t miss him in a sexual, soul mate kind of way. I miss him like I would miss a lost best friend. So much has happened since I last spoke to him and my debate is that it should be left as it is. I should move on. But then I think of the laughs we shared and the conversations we had. The way he paid attention to me. And I wish he were still in my life. We “got” each other, like best friends. Hubby and I? We don’t “get” each other, most of the time. I wouldn’t say he is my best friend and mean it. I don’t think he would say that of me. Somehow we just exist. I can’t explain it. I don’t understand it. But I love him and I want to be with him forever. We just don’t “get” each other. We are in fact like be freakin puzzle to the other. But how I wish I could just pick up the phone and say “Hey, how have you been?” and pick up as if there hadn’t been a gap. What if I imagine this to be a big giant fairy tale and in the end I get crushed? That would end it, right? I would then be able to move on and claim insanity.

So I am happy here in this world that I have created for myself. I am far from ungrateful. I just wish that sometimes two paths can run in a peaceful way together. But this is life now isn’t it. And life does not work like that. You pick the path and you barrel forward without looking back. I wish I could say I do it well!

*Tomorrow is WWC, the words are INANIMATE and YELLOW, if you want to play you can go see Tink for the official rules and regulations. 🙂