“Quit it!” she demands. “Would you stop!” she insists uncomfortably. I love to stare at her; to look into her eyes. Aside from their alluring beauty her eyes are her history. They contain the archives of all her memories. Until recently it was only through those eyes that I could see those memories for myself, the faces and places she cherishes, moments shared with people closest to her, even those now long gone. With her family before me, her memories unfold in real-time. The secrets, the longing for what once was, the actuality of what will never again be, the promise of what may yet come. Every glance is another snapshot of her. I stare.
How astonishing these eyes of ours are. They are in a way scavengers, promiscuous even. Sight is foreplay. Even when entangled with her as I yield to pleasure and close my eyes; I can still see every inch of her. And later, asleep and dreaming, I can see her again. I stare for the snapshots so that even years later I can call them up and still see her there. My wish is that someday she will see herself through my eyes. As I see her. For now, I stare.
We talk of love at first sight. Is there really such a thing? Both men and women attest to it. But do we really see the same thing? We use our eyes to scan each other on first sighting and trick them into giving us glimpses of the future. A future may be untold but is rarely unseen. A hand on the small of her back to guide her to her seat, the expectation of her needs before she has them, the need to make her voice the last thing I hear before falling asleep…..these are the cues that we will rehearse someday. I used to think I knew what love was. Now at least I know what it looks like. Tonight, I will drift off to sleep and call her up again. This is happiness, as seen through my eyes.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Nor'easter
Nor’easter
Alex never tired of the scenic drive to his parents’ house. The country roadways of upstate New York were especially beautiful in the fall and winter seasons. He couldn’t decide which he loved more-fall with its changing leaves and beautiful colors or winter for the snow covered trees and fresh, brisk air. It was a relaxing and picturesque two-hour trek. He had made this trip often enough and had never missed a major holiday. He was especially careful not to miss this one. A light snow had been falling since morning, melting as it touched the ground. Gentle, but with unbroken commitment, it intended to conceal everything below it.
As Alex pressed on route 30A near Broadalbin Junction, the back way to his parents’ house, he was reflecting on his childhood. He remembered how, as a little boy, he used to ask his mother, “How much do you love me?” She would hold up her hands about a foot apart and say, “This much.” He would then hold his hands about a foot and a half apart and say, “I love you this much, so I love you more!” She would counter and the game would progress until he spread his arms as far apart as they would go. Then his mother would be forced to concede that she couldn’t possibly love him any more than that, and he would run off with a victory whoop, thoroughly convinced that he was the best, most loving son ever. The memory of their little game brought a smile to his face.
Alex spent a lot of time with his mother preparing dinners and school lunches for his seven older sisters. He supposed that not many boys at age nine would spend as much time with their mothers doing chores, but with his father often away at work, he preferred the company of his mother to that of his sisters. Besides, this presented the two of them with plenty of opportunities to talk; it was not something he thoroughly appreciated at the time. Alex sighed. He wished he had been closer to his father as well.
As the radio played yet another Valentine’s dedication, Alex remembered specifically one day while he was helping his mother with the dishes he inquired, “What is Valentine’s day, mom?”
“Valentine’s day is a special day of the year on which people express their love for each other by giving cards, presenting flowers, or candy. The holiday is named after Saint Valentine,” she offered. Alex thought about this for a moment.
“What did you get daddy?” he asked.
“Well, if your father were home, we would be making his favorite dinner.”
“Is he coming home this weekend?”
“No, honey,” she explained. “Your father wasn’t able to make it because of the storms coming in.”
“Is that why there is no school today?” Alex said pointing at the falling snow outside the window.
“Yes,” his mother answered. “Sometimes storms can keep people apart, but sometimes they can also bring them together. Your father and I will have plenty of Valentines. Looks like this year it’s just you and me.”
Alex remembered how his hands were still wet when he quickly ran outside around the patio and behind the garage to where his mothers’ indoor flower garden was. He burst inside and forced the door closed behind him. Alex studied the assortment of flowers growing there for a moment and without further hesitation picked a handful that he was sure would please her. He ran back inside as his mother was finishing the dishes that he had abandoned. Just as his mother was about to reprimand him for running outside without his jacket, Alex proudly presented his gift to her. She did not respond right away. Instead, her eyes welled up as she grabbed him and hugged him so hard that he nearly lost his breath.
“Thank you dear. You are going to make some lucky young lady very happy one day,” she declared tenderly brushing the snow from his hair. “Next time, don’t forget your jacket,” she whispered.
Turning on the windshield wipers, Alex had to chuckle. He didn’t know about lucky, but that young lady his mother spoke of turned out to be Emily, his wife of thirteen years. Sometimes it was hard to believe that he was married and had two children of his own. Two was a far cry from eight and Alex was thankful for that. He remembered what it was like growing up with seven older sisters. In fact, as he recalled, with that many women in the house Alex did not even know what the inside of a bathroom even looked like until he was at least seven or so.
Just ahead was the Saratoga Boulevard intersection. Alex decided to pull into the Stewarts to fill-up. He hadn’t had time to fill the tank after dropping Emily off at her parents. He found himself wishing she had come with him this time, but she had thought it best if Alex spent some time with his now-retired father. She was unaware of just how uncomfortable that could be
.
“He probably doesn’t know what to do with himself these days,” she would say. Boy, how he wished she had come. Emily had a way of making things seem, well, less awkward. As Alex waited to pay for his gas, he suddenly remembered something. Giving up his place in line, he made his way to the beverage cooler and picked up a six pack of Genesee Ale, his father’s favorite beer. While waiting in line again, Alex felt his cell phone vibrate silently in his pocket, letting him know that another text message had been delivered. Emily, he was sure. She was probably keeping him up to date on her visit with her parents. The two of them were to meet back at the house later for a Valentine’s dinner and a quiet evening together. As he headed back to the car, he heard a voice call from behind.
“Sir,” Alex turned to the voice. “You dropped something.” Without waiting for Alex to respond she continued, “Isn’t that yours?” Alex looked over to where she gestured to discover that he had dropped his wallet.
“Oh, thank you very much.” Alex said picking up the wallet. With a quick appraisal presuming that everything was still there, he returned the wallet to his coat pocket and turned his attention back to the woman.
“It’s quite alright, young man. You’re welcome. You wouldn’t want to leave that behind.”
“No. I suppose I wouldn’t,” he said.
“That would make for a bad day, indeed,” the woman said more to herself than to Alex. She glanced up and studied the sky for a moment and said, “You drive safe now….some bad weather coming. Looks like from the north.” He had to smile at that. A “Nor’easter” his mother would call it. The sky was overcast and there had been a light flurry since he had left. Not so unusual for this time of year, he thought.
“It’s sure to spoil some travel plans,” she remarked. “I hope it’s not too far where you’re going.” With a reassuring smile, she turned and headed into the store. Seeing the rather frail looking elderly woman reminded Alex how quickly the years catch us. This was never more apparent to Alex than when one of one of his own parents fell ill a few years back.
Alex remembered that visit. It was another Valentine’s Day; his mother’s favorite holiday. He remembered staring at his two aging parents, and wondering how the years had seemed to catch up with them almost as if all at once. To his mother’s relief his father had finally retired that year.
“Now try not to get jealous this time,” his father said.
“Your father is just excited he gets to see his favorite redheaded nurse tomorrow,” his mother said, folding her arms.
“I’m telling ya, I should have been a doctor,” he said.
“It takes more than surrounding yourself with pretty nurses to make you a doctor, dear.”
“I didn’t say I’d be a good one,” laughed his father.
“You certainly won’t get any argument here. Now, did you bring me the pictures of our trip to Niagara? I want to show Alex.” Alex grinned. He was grinning because he knew that at times it would be easier to change the course of a river even with its bends, falls, depths and sometimes unpredictable course, than to change the mind of either of his parents. He knew that if they had their minds set on showing him some photographs, he’d best go along with it. It did not matter how many times he had seen them before.
As his parents assaulted Alex with stories of the careers they should have chosen, he wondered the extent of those regrets- where they should have traveled or the lives that should belong to them. They certainly did not seem to have a problem telling Alex what he should do with his own life. They seemed to have long since given up on traveling the world, buying that new car or new house- trading it for the realization of what was before them now. Yet they seemed surprisingly happy, especially with each other even as stubborn as each of them had become. Their lives now full of clichés; their impulsiveness and age earned them the right to say the first thing to pop into their heads no matter how ridiculous. However, there was sweetness to their message, an almost sincere concern. As they dug through dilapidated furnishings looking for certain photographs, it was soon apparent the importance of those remembrances.
“I told you. They’re not in the attic,” his mother insisted.
“And I’m telling you that’s where they are,” Alex’s father said as he headed upstairs. Realizing that his father was never going to take direction to the whereabouts of what she was looking for, his mother reluctantly got up and pulled out a photo album from a chest of drawers.
“Shhh.” Pressing a finger to her lips, she said to Alex, “Let him look a while. He’s already made a mess of things as it is. Besides, he should be getting more exercise anyway.” She was always teasing his father about the messes he would leave. She used to say that whenever she would go into a room he was working in she could tell he had done the work of three men; Larry, Curly and Moe. She knew better though. His father was very good with his hands and talented in all things to do with construction or carpentry, unlike Alex. Alex was nothing like that. Instead, he had gone the way of academia; yet another thing they did not have in common.
Alex realized that most of what they considered important had not yet been vindicated but was instead forever preserved and immortalized in these photographic timelines. He was reminded that this was important to them.
“Your mother hates it when I’m right,’ his father said proudly returning with a thick tome of photographs.
“No, I just hate it when you talk,” she said with a chortle.
“Well, then how are you going know when I’m right?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Now you’re catching on. And that’s the wrong album, dear. I have what I was looking for." With a resigned look on his face, he muttered under his breath and started back up the stairs.
It was then that Alex realized what she was looking for. Inside the yellowing pages of this aging picture book was a page sealed with dried flowers. It was the Valentine’s gift he had given her when he was nine. Looking at them now even in their decrepit state, he could tell it was a sad excuse for a flower arrangement, even then. But still, after all these years, she had kept them.
Upon returning, his father realized the efforts of his earlier search had left a mess of things. In flattering fashion, and determined to save himself any further grief from mother, he set about re-arranging the belongings; each to its proper place. Alex returned his attention to his mother; her gaze already on him.
“Do you know how much I love you?” she challenged. Without waiting for a reply she extended her arms as far as she could and declared, “I love you this much.” And then she began to cry; a joyful cry.
As Alex pulled in to his parent’s driveway, he began having doubts. He wondered if he should have come at all. It was a bit difficult being so familiar now with a man that until recent years he hadn’t really known. He is quite a remarkable man though. After all, he managed to keep a family of eight together and his mother happy all these years, Alex thought to himself. Getting out of the car he stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. As if to lend credibility to the old woman warning, it was beginning to snow harder, much harder. The freshly fallen snow had made the roads stand out in stark contrast to their newly white-blanketed surroundings. Making his way to the front door with a six pack of beer in one hand and a large bouquet of assorted flowers in the other, Alex noticed that the driveway, sidewalk and steps had already been cleared of any accumulation. His father always was a morning person he thought. However, the snow was fighting back; making its intentions known. It had dusted his father’s achievement with a thin layer of renewed and promising effort. Alex smiled because he knew his father would be out here again with his snow blower as soon as it got deep enough.
Alex knocked on the door. Above the sounds of the running furnace he could hear muffled footfalls and clank of a walker cane advancing toward the door. The door opened a crack; his father peered out to look at him.
“Oh.” He said to Alex. “It’s you.” He didn’t open the door any further but instead let it fend for itself. As if someone were trying to beat him to it, he turned to get a head start back to his chair.
“I brought you a gift,” Alex said as he let himself in.
“Yea, I see the flowers,” grumbled his father. “You don’t think we have enough flowers around here what with the flower garden and all? Bad enough I gotta take care of that thing. Somebody’s got to.” Alex knew that despite his father’s protest, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He had built that indoor flower garden for his mother with his own two hands.
“I got them for mother,” Alex said.
“I know that. What’d ya think? I thought you got them for me?”
Alex put the beer into the refrigerator. Though Alex was more of a wine person, the two of them would have a beer later in the afternoon; as was their newly found tradition. At least there was that.
“It’s really coming down out there,” Alex said gesturing out the window.
“Uh huh,” his father said inspecting the skies for himself. “A Nor’easter. Looks like the snow blower’ll get plenty of use. Seems you got here just in time. If you made any plans, best see to ‘em soon. Lest you be stuck here.” Alex hadn’t thought of that. Truth is, having spent so little time with his father, he didn’t know what that would be like. He never had spent a lot of time alone with him. Should he leave? He had just arrived. He thought of Emily. Glancing at the pictures hanging on the wall, he had noticed that his mother had framed the Valentine flower arrangement he had given her as a child and hung it up like a painting.
“When did you do that?” Alex asked motioning to the wall. His father looked up to the flowers. Alex thought he detected the slightest of grins attend his father’s weathered face.
He turned to Alex and with a gentler voice said, “You were always her favorite Valentine you know, ever since you picked her those flowers.” Alex hesitated. He didn’t know what to say.
“Yeah,” Alex sighed “I miss her too.” His father said nothing. He didn’t have to. The two of them looked at each other for a moment and then returned their gaze to the window and the ever determined snow falling outside. It remained silent for some time. Snow that had once been melting as it hit the ground was now freezing into icy stalactites hanging from the gutters, telephone lines and tree limbs. It was then he remembered what his mother had said so long ago. He took his phone out of his pocket to call Emily.
“Yep,” drawing a long breath his father finally said, “It’s a nor’easter alright. Wonder how much we’ll get?”
Alex let his phone drop back into his coat pocket, looked out the window again and said, “I’ve seen worse.” And just like that, as if with renewed interest the two of them were talking again. Of course, they were always more comfortable talking about the weather.
Alex never tired of the scenic drive to his parents’ house. The country roadways of upstate New York were especially beautiful in the fall and winter seasons. He couldn’t decide which he loved more-fall with its changing leaves and beautiful colors or winter for the snow covered trees and fresh, brisk air. It was a relaxing and picturesque two-hour trek. He had made this trip often enough and had never missed a major holiday. He was especially careful not to miss this one. A light snow had been falling since morning, melting as it touched the ground. Gentle, but with unbroken commitment, it intended to conceal everything below it.
As Alex pressed on route 30A near Broadalbin Junction, the back way to his parents’ house, he was reflecting on his childhood. He remembered how, as a little boy, he used to ask his mother, “How much do you love me?” She would hold up her hands about a foot apart and say, “This much.” He would then hold his hands about a foot and a half apart and say, “I love you this much, so I love you more!” She would counter and the game would progress until he spread his arms as far apart as they would go. Then his mother would be forced to concede that she couldn’t possibly love him any more than that, and he would run off with a victory whoop, thoroughly convinced that he was the best, most loving son ever. The memory of their little game brought a smile to his face.
Alex spent a lot of time with his mother preparing dinners and school lunches for his seven older sisters. He supposed that not many boys at age nine would spend as much time with their mothers doing chores, but with his father often away at work, he preferred the company of his mother to that of his sisters. Besides, this presented the two of them with plenty of opportunities to talk; it was not something he thoroughly appreciated at the time. Alex sighed. He wished he had been closer to his father as well.
As the radio played yet another Valentine’s dedication, Alex remembered specifically one day while he was helping his mother with the dishes he inquired, “What is Valentine’s day, mom?”
“Valentine’s day is a special day of the year on which people express their love for each other by giving cards, presenting flowers, or candy. The holiday is named after Saint Valentine,” she offered. Alex thought about this for a moment.
“What did you get daddy?” he asked.
“Well, if your father were home, we would be making his favorite dinner.”
“Is he coming home this weekend?”
“No, honey,” she explained. “Your father wasn’t able to make it because of the storms coming in.”
“Is that why there is no school today?” Alex said pointing at the falling snow outside the window.
“Yes,” his mother answered. “Sometimes storms can keep people apart, but sometimes they can also bring them together. Your father and I will have plenty of Valentines. Looks like this year it’s just you and me.”
Alex remembered how his hands were still wet when he quickly ran outside around the patio and behind the garage to where his mothers’ indoor flower garden was. He burst inside and forced the door closed behind him. Alex studied the assortment of flowers growing there for a moment and without further hesitation picked a handful that he was sure would please her. He ran back inside as his mother was finishing the dishes that he had abandoned. Just as his mother was about to reprimand him for running outside without his jacket, Alex proudly presented his gift to her. She did not respond right away. Instead, her eyes welled up as she grabbed him and hugged him so hard that he nearly lost his breath.
“Thank you dear. You are going to make some lucky young lady very happy one day,” she declared tenderly brushing the snow from his hair. “Next time, don’t forget your jacket,” she whispered.
Turning on the windshield wipers, Alex had to chuckle. He didn’t know about lucky, but that young lady his mother spoke of turned out to be Emily, his wife of thirteen years. Sometimes it was hard to believe that he was married and had two children of his own. Two was a far cry from eight and Alex was thankful for that. He remembered what it was like growing up with seven older sisters. In fact, as he recalled, with that many women in the house Alex did not even know what the inside of a bathroom even looked like until he was at least seven or so.
Just ahead was the Saratoga Boulevard intersection. Alex decided to pull into the Stewarts to fill-up. He hadn’t had time to fill the tank after dropping Emily off at her parents. He found himself wishing she had come with him this time, but she had thought it best if Alex spent some time with his now-retired father. She was unaware of just how uncomfortable that could be
.
“He probably doesn’t know what to do with himself these days,” she would say. Boy, how he wished she had come. Emily had a way of making things seem, well, less awkward. As Alex waited to pay for his gas, he suddenly remembered something. Giving up his place in line, he made his way to the beverage cooler and picked up a six pack of Genesee Ale, his father’s favorite beer. While waiting in line again, Alex felt his cell phone vibrate silently in his pocket, letting him know that another text message had been delivered. Emily, he was sure. She was probably keeping him up to date on her visit with her parents. The two of them were to meet back at the house later for a Valentine’s dinner and a quiet evening together. As he headed back to the car, he heard a voice call from behind.
“Sir,” Alex turned to the voice. “You dropped something.” Without waiting for Alex to respond she continued, “Isn’t that yours?” Alex looked over to where she gestured to discover that he had dropped his wallet.
“Oh, thank you very much.” Alex said picking up the wallet. With a quick appraisal presuming that everything was still there, he returned the wallet to his coat pocket and turned his attention back to the woman.
“It’s quite alright, young man. You’re welcome. You wouldn’t want to leave that behind.”
“No. I suppose I wouldn’t,” he said.
“That would make for a bad day, indeed,” the woman said more to herself than to Alex. She glanced up and studied the sky for a moment and said, “You drive safe now….some bad weather coming. Looks like from the north.” He had to smile at that. A “Nor’easter” his mother would call it. The sky was overcast and there had been a light flurry since he had left. Not so unusual for this time of year, he thought.
“It’s sure to spoil some travel plans,” she remarked. “I hope it’s not too far where you’re going.” With a reassuring smile, she turned and headed into the store. Seeing the rather frail looking elderly woman reminded Alex how quickly the years catch us. This was never more apparent to Alex than when one of one of his own parents fell ill a few years back.
Alex remembered that visit. It was another Valentine’s Day; his mother’s favorite holiday. He remembered staring at his two aging parents, and wondering how the years had seemed to catch up with them almost as if all at once. To his mother’s relief his father had finally retired that year.
“Now try not to get jealous this time,” his father said.
“Your father is just excited he gets to see his favorite redheaded nurse tomorrow,” his mother said, folding her arms.
“I’m telling ya, I should have been a doctor,” he said.
“It takes more than surrounding yourself with pretty nurses to make you a doctor, dear.”
“I didn’t say I’d be a good one,” laughed his father.
“You certainly won’t get any argument here. Now, did you bring me the pictures of our trip to Niagara? I want to show Alex.” Alex grinned. He was grinning because he knew that at times it would be easier to change the course of a river even with its bends, falls, depths and sometimes unpredictable course, than to change the mind of either of his parents. He knew that if they had their minds set on showing him some photographs, he’d best go along with it. It did not matter how many times he had seen them before.
As his parents assaulted Alex with stories of the careers they should have chosen, he wondered the extent of those regrets- where they should have traveled or the lives that should belong to them. They certainly did not seem to have a problem telling Alex what he should do with his own life. They seemed to have long since given up on traveling the world, buying that new car or new house- trading it for the realization of what was before them now. Yet they seemed surprisingly happy, especially with each other even as stubborn as each of them had become. Their lives now full of clichés; their impulsiveness and age earned them the right to say the first thing to pop into their heads no matter how ridiculous. However, there was sweetness to their message, an almost sincere concern. As they dug through dilapidated furnishings looking for certain photographs, it was soon apparent the importance of those remembrances.
“I told you. They’re not in the attic,” his mother insisted.
“And I’m telling you that’s where they are,” Alex’s father said as he headed upstairs. Realizing that his father was never going to take direction to the whereabouts of what she was looking for, his mother reluctantly got up and pulled out a photo album from a chest of drawers.
“Shhh.” Pressing a finger to her lips, she said to Alex, “Let him look a while. He’s already made a mess of things as it is. Besides, he should be getting more exercise anyway.” She was always teasing his father about the messes he would leave. She used to say that whenever she would go into a room he was working in she could tell he had done the work of three men; Larry, Curly and Moe. She knew better though. His father was very good with his hands and talented in all things to do with construction or carpentry, unlike Alex. Alex was nothing like that. Instead, he had gone the way of academia; yet another thing they did not have in common.
Alex realized that most of what they considered important had not yet been vindicated but was instead forever preserved and immortalized in these photographic timelines. He was reminded that this was important to them.
“Your mother hates it when I’m right,’ his father said proudly returning with a thick tome of photographs.
“No, I just hate it when you talk,” she said with a chortle.
“Well, then how are you going know when I’m right?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Now you’re catching on. And that’s the wrong album, dear. I have what I was looking for." With a resigned look on his face, he muttered under his breath and started back up the stairs.
It was then that Alex realized what she was looking for. Inside the yellowing pages of this aging picture book was a page sealed with dried flowers. It was the Valentine’s gift he had given her when he was nine. Looking at them now even in their decrepit state, he could tell it was a sad excuse for a flower arrangement, even then. But still, after all these years, she had kept them.
Upon returning, his father realized the efforts of his earlier search had left a mess of things. In flattering fashion, and determined to save himself any further grief from mother, he set about re-arranging the belongings; each to its proper place. Alex returned his attention to his mother; her gaze already on him.
“Do you know how much I love you?” she challenged. Without waiting for a reply she extended her arms as far as she could and declared, “I love you this much.” And then she began to cry; a joyful cry.
As Alex pulled in to his parent’s driveway, he began having doubts. He wondered if he should have come at all. It was a bit difficult being so familiar now with a man that until recent years he hadn’t really known. He is quite a remarkable man though. After all, he managed to keep a family of eight together and his mother happy all these years, Alex thought to himself. Getting out of the car he stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. As if to lend credibility to the old woman warning, it was beginning to snow harder, much harder. The freshly fallen snow had made the roads stand out in stark contrast to their newly white-blanketed surroundings. Making his way to the front door with a six pack of beer in one hand and a large bouquet of assorted flowers in the other, Alex noticed that the driveway, sidewalk and steps had already been cleared of any accumulation. His father always was a morning person he thought. However, the snow was fighting back; making its intentions known. It had dusted his father’s achievement with a thin layer of renewed and promising effort. Alex smiled because he knew his father would be out here again with his snow blower as soon as it got deep enough.
Alex knocked on the door. Above the sounds of the running furnace he could hear muffled footfalls and clank of a walker cane advancing toward the door. The door opened a crack; his father peered out to look at him.
“Oh.” He said to Alex. “It’s you.” He didn’t open the door any further but instead let it fend for itself. As if someone were trying to beat him to it, he turned to get a head start back to his chair.
“I brought you a gift,” Alex said as he let himself in.
“Yea, I see the flowers,” grumbled his father. “You don’t think we have enough flowers around here what with the flower garden and all? Bad enough I gotta take care of that thing. Somebody’s got to.” Alex knew that despite his father’s protest, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He had built that indoor flower garden for his mother with his own two hands.
“I got them for mother,” Alex said.
“I know that. What’d ya think? I thought you got them for me?”
Alex put the beer into the refrigerator. Though Alex was more of a wine person, the two of them would have a beer later in the afternoon; as was their newly found tradition. At least there was that.
“It’s really coming down out there,” Alex said gesturing out the window.
“Uh huh,” his father said inspecting the skies for himself. “A Nor’easter. Looks like the snow blower’ll get plenty of use. Seems you got here just in time. If you made any plans, best see to ‘em soon. Lest you be stuck here.” Alex hadn’t thought of that. Truth is, having spent so little time with his father, he didn’t know what that would be like. He never had spent a lot of time alone with him. Should he leave? He had just arrived. He thought of Emily. Glancing at the pictures hanging on the wall, he had noticed that his mother had framed the Valentine flower arrangement he had given her as a child and hung it up like a painting.
“When did you do that?” Alex asked motioning to the wall. His father looked up to the flowers. Alex thought he detected the slightest of grins attend his father’s weathered face.
He turned to Alex and with a gentler voice said, “You were always her favorite Valentine you know, ever since you picked her those flowers.” Alex hesitated. He didn’t know what to say.
“Yeah,” Alex sighed “I miss her too.” His father said nothing. He didn’t have to. The two of them looked at each other for a moment and then returned their gaze to the window and the ever determined snow falling outside. It remained silent for some time. Snow that had once been melting as it hit the ground was now freezing into icy stalactites hanging from the gutters, telephone lines and tree limbs. It was then he remembered what his mother had said so long ago. He took his phone out of his pocket to call Emily.
“Yep,” drawing a long breath his father finally said, “It’s a nor’easter alright. Wonder how much we’ll get?”
Alex let his phone drop back into his coat pocket, looked out the window again and said, “I’ve seen worse.” And just like that, as if with renewed interest the two of them were talking again. Of course, they were always more comfortable talking about the weather.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Getting to Know Me
1. I still cannot eat spaghetti without getting some on my shirt.
2. I love cheese, nachos, ice cream, whip cream and popcorn!
3. I love Starbucks! In fact, when I was sick for about 10 days and couldn’tshow up to get my morning coffee, the staff and patrons got together and got me a get-well card for me. They also took turns bringing me my daily coffee. Job security.
4. I’m probably the only person you will know that broke their arm in a chess tournament. I tripped went I was jumping up and down celebrating.
5. Bella is a much better dancer than I am.
6. I STILL cannot seem to remember to put my toothbrush in my mouth BEFORE turning it on.
7. Lists like these make me very horny.
8. I grew up with 7 older sisters. I didn’t know what the inside of a bathroom looked like until I was 9 years old.
9. I have many pet peeves. One of which is people that have too many pet
peeves.
10. I have problems remembering things.
11. I’m VERY sarcastic. Duh!
12. Whenever I’m depressed I go to Wal-Mart. You only need to hear, “Now put that down honey! You know we can’t afford no Tang!” just once to realize that you don’t have it so bad. Hey, I didn’t say I was proud of it.
13. I love the word “Queue.” It is the only word that if you dropped the last 4 letters would still sound the same.
14. I’m a very peaceful and caring person. If anyone tries to take that away from me I beat the crap out of them!
15. I carry wet naps and practice safe texting.
16. I’m not afraid to cry. Admittingly, when I hurt myself, but I’m working on that.
17. I love to write.
18. I have problems remembering things.
19. I am very outgoing. I’ve been told I have an “air” about me. I’m not sure what they mean but I’ve started wearing more deodorant anyway.
20. I love to sing and play guitar.
21. I love teaching.
22. I like thunderstorms and rainy weather. Why am I in Tucson again?
23. When people first meet me, there is a 50-50 chance they will either hate me or like me. But that is only right 50% of the time.
24. Fanaticism of ANY type pisses me off. Once you’ve crossed the line to fanatic about ANYTHING, you’ve stopped learning and accepting new information. Even health nuts are still nuts.
25. I am seldom serious. Seriously.
2. I love cheese, nachos, ice cream, whip cream and popcorn!
3. I love Starbucks! In fact, when I was sick for about 10 days and couldn’tshow up to get my morning coffee, the staff and patrons got together and got me a get-well card for me. They also took turns bringing me my daily coffee. Job security.
4. I’m probably the only person you will know that broke their arm in a chess tournament. I tripped went I was jumping up and down celebrating.
5. Bella is a much better dancer than I am.
6. I STILL cannot seem to remember to put my toothbrush in my mouth BEFORE turning it on.
7. Lists like these make me very horny.
8. I grew up with 7 older sisters. I didn’t know what the inside of a bathroom looked like until I was 9 years old.
9. I have many pet peeves. One of which is people that have too many pet
peeves.
10. I have problems remembering things.
11. I’m VERY sarcastic. Duh!
12. Whenever I’m depressed I go to Wal-Mart. You only need to hear, “Now put that down honey! You know we can’t afford no Tang!” just once to realize that you don’t have it so bad. Hey, I didn’t say I was proud of it.
13. I love the word “Queue.” It is the only word that if you dropped the last 4 letters would still sound the same.
14. I’m a very peaceful and caring person. If anyone tries to take that away from me I beat the crap out of them!
15. I carry wet naps and practice safe texting.
16. I’m not afraid to cry. Admittingly, when I hurt myself, but I’m working on that.
17. I love to write.
18. I have problems remembering things.
19. I am very outgoing. I’ve been told I have an “air” about me. I’m not sure what they mean but I’ve started wearing more deodorant anyway.
20. I love to sing and play guitar.
21. I love teaching.
22. I like thunderstorms and rainy weather. Why am I in Tucson again?
23. When people first meet me, there is a 50-50 chance they will either hate me or like me. But that is only right 50% of the time.
24. Fanaticism of ANY type pisses me off. Once you’ve crossed the line to fanatic about ANYTHING, you’ve stopped learning and accepting new information. Even health nuts are still nuts.
25. I am seldom serious. Seriously.
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