The road has been long... sometimes sweet, sometimes hot and dusty. Always the road to finding and giving love, though.
I haven't blogged in years. Now is the time to pick back up where I left off ... so here it goes.
I had a flashback today. It was a smoldering summer evening circa 1985ish. We stopped by to see my paternal grandparents. When we arrived at their 1930's style mint green bungalow with the big screened in front porch that spanned the width of the house, my grandmother was sitting on the rocking chair, perched just inside the screen sheltering her from all kinds of buzzy things. She had a Texas style iced tea on the side table, sweating and pooling liquid at it's base. Oriental fan in the other hand trying madly to make the hot go somewhere else. We sat with her for a moment. I'm sure I interrupted the adults talking to find out where my grandfather was, I couldn't see him nor hear him snoring. Grandma got quiet for a moment. I didn't know or understand at the time. She said he was in the garden, but it was best to leave him be. My grandfather, known as Charlie or Chas in your best Texas speak, was a veteran of World War II. He saw some things that never set right with him. He often had moments of deep sadness, anger and despair. In the basement of this old house, they had a room set up just for him. His hideaway, his escape. In all the years of its existence, I saw it only twice. It included all matters of business and paperwork, a record player, a dart board, a couch, a big ash tray, a trashcan usually filled with too many beer cans, and his new toy: an audio recorder with a microphone. What I wouldn't give to have some of the tapes he made of our holiday get togethers and sing alongs … When we would go and visit, he would always interview us. I've often been curious what my little mind thought back in those days.
On this particular day, however, he had lost himself in his big garden, trying to forget those things he had seen. Most likely things that no one ever should see. I managed to sneak past mom and grandma. When I got into the house, all the windows were open, but the blinds drawn trying to keep the house cool in an age where fans were typical and alternating which windows would be open in accordance with the direction of the sun. I made it through the kitchen and could see him looking out with his hands on his hips. I stepped out onto the back porch and just watched for a moment. I remember feeling a bit afraid to speak up. That old man, round in the middle, holding down the patch with his white so old it was see through A-shirt tucked into some wild plaid pants and his funny fisherman hat. I remember starring and thinking how much I loved him. But you could tell that while he was doing his tendering with his hands, his mind was somewhere else. He would occasionally stop, hunched over with his hands on his knees and just shake his head.
I sent him more love, and just at that moment when he looked up and saw that I was spying... He smiled. Big tears came to his eyes. And then he invited me to come play in his garden.
I don't understand why this particular moment has come to the surface at this very moment in time, except to serve as a reminder to me that I am special to some people. That there are people out there in the world that smile when they think about me. Sometimes that's exactly what you need to keep truckin the dusty road. A simple hint that you are okay. An admonition from the Universe that can pull your existence from a moment in time that you had dismissed to the archives to show you exactly what you need TODAY.
So from the universe and I, remember that you make someone smile when they really need it.
