The road beckons. I see a good trip ahead of me. Dry, overcast. Lot's of new music. The Boy as a sidekick. Old friends riding shotgun in the hip pocket of my memory bank. A bit of jingle to blow. That part I love to see. A road trip without sadness, without longing, just filled with promise and a dry road to return on.
This time I won't be leaving poetry for you, or be stuffing my cell in my shirt pocket, waiting for the phone to ring. I won't be stopping at overlooks and dashing off notes to you, or spend any time at all wondering how your holiday event is going. I believe we're both way past that now and that there is too much to do, too many people to see, all of that.
Then again, sometimes I find that I'm really not much of a liar.
Today, on the eve of the road trip I got a request at the desk. Amos Fortune, Free Man. My patron could tell right away that she hit on something other than a book request. I made a quick reference to it, how a friend of mine had read that book to me as we drove back from a conference, how good it was, how it made the time pass by so quickly. Forget the poker playing career, I had you written all over my face. Tell me, M, how will I ever be able to forget that book? Washington Pass? Copper green rivers? Not in this lifetime, that's for sure.
Oh, what is it with these memories, the ones that say to me, "stop and listen awhile, take a moment and breathe me in. Exhale, let the notes of that song go and move along. All will be well, I assure you". Move along, indeed. It's taken me years to figure out that "move along" part. I finally grasped and held onto that thought last week when I passed you by on the road. I saw everything that needed to be seen in that fraction of a second in your eyes. It was brilliant. Whatr was I thinking? Where had I been?
But I have to say that I am not sad, or angry, or remorseful, or any of that. I am not stuck or wistful or hopeful by penning these endless stories. Better than that, by writing here I am preparing myself for the next step, the next adventure, the next moment. For the first time in a long time I am seeing the value of living in the now, in finding the right spot on my mantle for your memory. I'm finally understanding the words you wrote to me in your codas. But more than that I am happy, and thankful, that when I turned my car around to look for you that you were gone. That you didn't wave at me to stop. That you looked up, recognized me and then, by looking away, dismissed me. You went back to your call and I disappeared.
Yes, it sounds strange but I am thankful for that. For that curt and impersonal dismissal.
Because of that I can get on the road tomorrow and leave breadcrumbs back to my home and to the life I'm living today. I can come back to my work, my friends, my house and know that all is well. And that I can accept, for whatever it's worth, the life you've chosen to live. Yes, for what it is worth I am thankful for that as well.
Tomorrow I will greet the sunrise somewhere in the Cascades. Stop in Yakima for provisions, spend a few moments in Richland for breakfast, find some pan dulce in Pasco. I will find time to breathe, take in the vistas I've learned to love on that route and share them with my boy. I will look for notes and phone calls from new friends, and all the while, wish for luck and good timing and fair weather on the road.
I don't know where you are or what you are doing on Thanksgiving day, M. I have no idea if you are cooking or entertaining or what, and that is only because you can't, won't and have no desire to tell me. I can live with that now.
For the moment.
Until I come back here with more stories.
I am thankful for the times that we shared that have given me these stories to tell, M. And I will forever be thankful for having had you in my life, for all the hard lessons our relationship has thrown our way. But more than anything I hope that your day is warm, filled with light and all the love you need to make your Thanksgiving a special one for you and yours.
Peace.
Your WHMB
This time I won't be leaving poetry for you, or be stuffing my cell in my shirt pocket, waiting for the phone to ring. I won't be stopping at overlooks and dashing off notes to you, or spend any time at all wondering how your holiday event is going. I believe we're both way past that now and that there is too much to do, too many people to see, all of that.
Then again, sometimes I find that I'm really not much of a liar.
Today, on the eve of the road trip I got a request at the desk. Amos Fortune, Free Man. My patron could tell right away that she hit on something other than a book request. I made a quick reference to it, how a friend of mine had read that book to me as we drove back from a conference, how good it was, how it made the time pass by so quickly. Forget the poker playing career, I had you written all over my face. Tell me, M, how will I ever be able to forget that book? Washington Pass? Copper green rivers? Not in this lifetime, that's for sure.
Oh, what is it with these memories, the ones that say to me, "stop and listen awhile, take a moment and breathe me in. Exhale, let the notes of that song go and move along. All will be well, I assure you". Move along, indeed. It's taken me years to figure out that "move along" part. I finally grasped and held onto that thought last week when I passed you by on the road. I saw everything that needed to be seen in that fraction of a second in your eyes. It was brilliant. Whatr was I thinking? Where had I been?
But I have to say that I am not sad, or angry, or remorseful, or any of that. I am not stuck or wistful or hopeful by penning these endless stories. Better than that, by writing here I am preparing myself for the next step, the next adventure, the next moment. For the first time in a long time I am seeing the value of living in the now, in finding the right spot on my mantle for your memory. I'm finally understanding the words you wrote to me in your codas. But more than that I am happy, and thankful, that when I turned my car around to look for you that you were gone. That you didn't wave at me to stop. That you looked up, recognized me and then, by looking away, dismissed me. You went back to your call and I disappeared.
Yes, it sounds strange but I am thankful for that. For that curt and impersonal dismissal.
Because of that I can get on the road tomorrow and leave breadcrumbs back to my home and to the life I'm living today. I can come back to my work, my friends, my house and know that all is well. And that I can accept, for whatever it's worth, the life you've chosen to live. Yes, for what it is worth I am thankful for that as well.
Tomorrow I will greet the sunrise somewhere in the Cascades. Stop in Yakima for provisions, spend a few moments in Richland for breakfast, find some pan dulce in Pasco. I will find time to breathe, take in the vistas I've learned to love on that route and share them with my boy. I will look for notes and phone calls from new friends, and all the while, wish for luck and good timing and fair weather on the road.
I don't know where you are or what you are doing on Thanksgiving day, M. I have no idea if you are cooking or entertaining or what, and that is only because you can't, won't and have no desire to tell me. I can live with that now.
For the moment.
Until I come back here with more stories.
I am thankful for the times that we shared that have given me these stories to tell, M. And I will forever be thankful for having had you in my life, for all the hard lessons our relationship has thrown our way. But more than anything I hope that your day is warm, filled with light and all the love you need to make your Thanksgiving a special one for you and yours.
Peace.
Your WHMB
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