ImPerceptibility

Posts Tagged ‘life’

We started the first day of my seventh year of homeschooling today. Seven years. Wow. That’s a long time to be doing anything. Previously my longest job was two years. I left three days before my youngest was born with an arrogant, “I’ll be back in six months or when I run out of money. Which ever happens later.” Everyone laughed and said they’d see me soon. I’ve never gone back but if they haven’t changed the locks I could. I still have the front door key.

That was eleven years ago. Eleven years. Wow. That’s a long time to not be doing anything. I’d like to think I’ve made the most of it but so many of those early years were filled with getting through the day. So many of the later years were filled with getting through the night. Next year my youngest goes to middle school.

One more year. Wow. That’s not very long to decide what to do. How do you decide what to do with the rest of your life? I couldn’t figure that out when It was time for me to decide. When things were easier and uncomplicated. Now what? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I took that long walk today. The one that starts out on a wide gravel road then it gets smaller and smaller. It becomes nothing more than a space between trees. Dark and foreboding full of imagined snakes and real spiders, vine covered trees, and shadows. All the things that books and movie use to foreshadow doom. I was scared to walk there without you but it didn’t stop me.

I came to the train tracks, then a tunnel entrance covered with years worth of weeds. Honey suckle, poison ivy, and morning glories. Many years ago we decided it might be a metaphor for life. God, we were trashed that day! The vines were dormant and leafless for the winter but I knew they would be back in a few months and I knew I wouldn’t have the courage to cross them when they blossomed. I stood there until I felt I would loose my nerve, then I made myself continue on.

I pushed through brush, ducked under branches and crawled over fallen trees. My walk was coming to an end and each step was just a little slower than the last. Just past the sharp turn. I just had to make it past there.

I closed my eyes and stepped into the clearing. When I opened them it was like I remembered – but different. It wasn’t quite the same. I scanned the large gaping holes where men had gouged the gravel and sand from the earth. When they had taken everything they wanted they left it unattended, ugly and broken, alone to fend for itself. We loved that ugly place. We loved it because it was ours. No one else ever went there.

All these years later and the wounds were starting to heal. Grass and trees have grown. Sharp edges were softer. The water a little less stagnant. The light was filtered by the trees and the harshness was giving way to a aged softness. I wondered for a minute if it was a metaphor for life and I wasn’t even trashed.

No one but you and me would know why I went there. Most days I think we are the only ones that would even understand. Maybe the only people that would even care. I stayed for a long time but the time I spent didn’t make up for the time I had been away. When it was time for me to go I left behind my tears, markings from a paint stick, and a mostly full bottle of strawberry wine.

The walk back was shorter than I’d though it would be.

Yeah, that title was for the search engines, but the story is for you. I know how you enjoy public humiliation stories.

When my oldest daughter was three we would stop by a local Chinese restaurant to have lunch with my mom. We did this every week and we all looked forward to it. My oldest also looked forward to the bouncy ball machine on the way out. Each week she would get a quarter from Grandma and hope for a red ball. Each week she would get every other color but red.

She was so good about it. She never whined or cried. She would say, “I’ll get one next time.” I was very impressed with her patience and optimism. Each week I hoped she’d get a red one.

Then one week it happened. She put her quarter in the slot and turned the dial. The look of joy on her face told the story before I even spied the little red ball in her grasp. She held it up as if she had just won the gold Olympic medal and proudly showed it to everyone in the restaurant. At this point, I had no idea this ball would lead to my bloody downfall.

We started to walk to our car when it happened. The red ball broke it way free from her hands and started bouncing across the parking lot. In shock, I stood and looked at it for a second. Then I realized it was bouncing it way to the storm drain. This is when my super-powers kicked in.

I tossed the baby I was carrying to my mom and took off with super-human speed toward the wayward ball. There was only one thought in my mind and that was, “There is no way in Hell that ball is going down the drain!”

Time seemed to stop. The world shrunk to me, a red ball, and the gaping mouth of a hungry storm drain. The ball was bouncing closer and closer to its demise, but I was closing in. It was just out of my reach when my progress was abruptly halted by a pothole; a fairly deep one at that.

My foot went in the hole and stopped. The rest of me kept on going until it hit the asphalt. It took a few seconds to figure out what had happened and get back up. My elbow and knees were scrapped and my ankle didn’t feel so good. At this point it didn’t bother me. I was more worried about the lost ball.

My daughter walked over to the storm drain, about to have the temper tantrum of her life, when she suddenly reached down and came running back. The ball had stopped about three inches from the opening. I was so happy until I realized I was bleeding. I was deciding if I was going to cry or yell when my youngest decided to yell for me. “Mommy BOOM!” We all started to laugh. It was the better option.

So my daughter finally got her red bouncy ball. The lunch crowd at the Chinese restaurant got some entertainment. And somehow, I got all the credit for saving the ball. When my daughter told the story, I bounced so hard on the ground it made the ball stop rolling. It’s great to be a hero.