I had a different post written today. I put it away for tomorrow.
It happens when I’m out running or driving or even on a morning walk. The words come to me and I have no ability to write them down.
It’s so debilitating.
By the time I get to the computer, all the prose has lost it’s rhythm and in its place is what you read. It’s really quite sad because in my head I knew exactly what I wanted to say but I no longer have the ability to put pen to paper, words out loud, keystroke to monitor.
When I wake up my first thought in the morning is getting outside.
What’s the weather?
Has the sun come up?
I should walk Malachi…
I should run….
Mornings are my very favorite times of the day.
My sister is like that. The one I don’t talk about. J is a morning person and I don’t have a lot in common with her. We don’t even talk anymore which if you’re in Oprah’s world that’s a pretty big deal. J and I seem to be okay with it because at our center we know we love each other but like an old married couple that finally divorced we learned we are better apart than we are together. We do share some things. The most important, I think, if you’re really talking about family. We share a love of our favorite things.
We share a love of mornings and heading outside first thing to see what the day offers. Laughing and making people laugh. Climbing mountains and traveling to new cities. A passion for great television and movies. Incessantly quoting our favorites. And the obvious, our shared history of growing up together. The inside jokes, the family stories that no matter the time that passes or the issues coming between…those always continue to break us down to silent hysterical laughter until our sides hurt and everyone is the room is crying with the joy of it.
Our differences are enough to keep us apart. My sense of humor is different and she struggles to understand it. Our politics are worlds apart. Like mornings, I love late nights, also. Whereas she must must go to bed early, a lifelong need that has served her well and here I am ever sleep deprived. The dark of night in the quiet kitchen is such a vital time to gather my thoughts and center myself for the next day I feel out of balance if I do it any different. It’s become who I am.
We may not be close and if we met right now as strangers we wouldn’t necessarily be friends. We’re very different. But once in a while it’s good to remind yourself where you came from. Two kind and loving, generous, crazy ass, obnoxious feisty-as-hell-but-damn-are-they-a-good-time~people got married and made a family of very different girls…wondrous variety.
This morning I threw on my shoes, slipped my ~oh my those are thinning out you should so find a new pair to love~ jean shorts up and pulled a sweater over my head. Grabbing my Ipod and sunglasses I nearly ran out the door in a desperate attempt to beat the sun so I could see it make its appearance all in pinks and oranges.
There was no one out. It was quiet and cool and I turned my Ipod on to my favorite playlist and just walked. When I turned the corner I was greeted with…a time machine. A time machine that took me back to riding in the back seat and camping trips with my sisters. Flying around the camper while my dad took those turns at far too fast a speed was necessary and hanging out on the upper bed watching the road go by. Oh, but that was good. I do remember that.
The end of an era. Her time is done. She’s fulfilled her destiny, she’s danced her last dance. Her days of road nirvana are over, It seems such a violent end. Ugly and jagged. I am a romantic and everyone gets to move on, right? Isn’t there a home for loving old RV’s that served a little family well? Maybe so someone could rent her out on a lark some weekend or show their kids..”this is what Dad used to go camping in when I was a kid….boy that was the life. You guys just don’t know. She was the top of the line in her day!”.
She’s been violated and torn apart.
You can see bits of her peeking out reminding us she has had her share of theexperiences and hardships both. But it was worth it as there was joy, too. There was beauty and poetry in her wanderlust. And there was family.