Honea Express

Archive for the ‘Seasonal’ Category

Across the calendar a line of Xs stand upon the dates that we have kissed goodbye. Each line an ending, a memory, and one step closer to hugging someone at the last possible minute.

The year goes out with a bang, just as it arrived. It spends its last week sleeping off holiday treats and shopping fatigue. As the end draws near it makes a reservation, shaves what’s hairy, and puts on something that pops. It’s a party after all, and the year deserves it.

In the wings waits the next one. It is young and naive, full of hope and promises. It watches the current year and notes what it will do differently. It watches and it waits, one eye always on the hourglass. It too will dress in something smart, but not nearly as outdated.

People pull out resolutions and change the date accordingly. The one becomes an awkward two and everyone is the wiser. They are losing weight and quitting vices. They are eating healthier and trying harder. They have waited a year to repeat themselves. The first week is the hardest, and often the only.

The children want to stay up until midnight because everyone is doing it and the reviews are fantastic. They laugh every time someone makes a joke about seeing them next year. They are alive with apple juice and Chex mix.  They are why the new year rings.

The year will fall, another will rise to take its place, and the world will carry on regardless. There may be song and a spot or two of dancing. Laughter is strongly encouraged.

Happy New Year. You deserve it.

Everybody loves a good sequel. Here’s the one Ipromised Upromise. See what I did there?

Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have agreed to write this if I didn’t believe in it. Also, they’re paying me. But mostly because they’re paying me. I mean, mostly because I believe in it. And I believe in you. Most of you.

Here’s the thing about Upromise — it promises to save you money, and guess what? It is a promise kept. How? Glad you asked.

If you put your credit card on file with Upromise you can receive one cent back per gallon of gas at Exxon/Mobile stations. That adds up.

They also let you get cash back from grocery shopping, restaurant gift certificates (purchased at restaurant.com), and the buying or selling of a home. Seriously. They’re like the lizard king, they can do anything. Where anything equals saving you money in an array of ways.

And here’s how they’ll save you money on your holiday shopping: The Upromise Holiday Savings Hotspot. Sign up for a free Upromise account and then shop through their website at over 900 stores for increased holiday rewards and savings. Many of the Upromise partner sites are offering double their regular savings.

Who are the Upromise partner sites? Sur la Table, Godiva, Disney, Gap, Toy “r” Us, Barnes and Noble, Apple, Sony, Target… and about 890 more. You like those places. You like saving money.

Am I right? Of course I am. Ipromise.

I did it again.

Disclosure: This winter I was given a rare opportunity to be a Upromise Ambassador, which means, yes, this is a paid post (the second of two). I hope that doesn’t offend you. The reason that I agreed to this relationship is twofold, a) I’m buying what Upromise is selling, and b) I would not have been able to purchase my children a single Christmas gift if this opportunity hadn’t come about. That’s right, people, you’re reading a Christmas miracle. Believe.

The day left brown oak leaves littered across the orange brickwork like a dried and forgotten fire. Their shadows twisted and turned as they flirted with the lamplight and teased my tongue with longings of pumpkin, nutmeg, and the slightest hint of cinnamon. Then the rain fell and they curled up to reach it, the last grasp of an autumn laid dying. For that is fall, life going out in a blaze of glory through coffee steam and a lightly-frosted window.

My children are warm, and their bellies full. That is more than many may claim, but more often than naught it does not seem enough. We are spoiled by billboards and jingles. We want in waves, and going without turns desire as barren as winter. The tide swallows our footprints and we spend our lives walking in sand-washed circles.

Spring is a song I heard today. I danced despite myself and even hummed a few bars when only a memory lingered. It had a good beat and was as catchy as a firefly. I keep it in a jar in the back of my mind.

I know a man that lives his life in nothing but happiness. He has had one wife, eleven children, and a guitar shaped like the midday sun that twangs in echoes from every direction. He shines like summer on a postcard.

A sentiment of seasons rolls through me for but a moment, and then dreams become distorted by so much reality. The threat is this, all would blur into constant motion if not for the things we hitch ourselves to. For instance, when I tuck my children into their beds my kisses are many and each a soft anchor. They may float like parade balloons in the night, but they are safe from wind and fears. I am tethered tightly upon the curves of their smile, and I have no intention of ever letting go.

We passed the flags flying halfway up. Waves of people walked alongside us. Some found themselves caught in sudden bursts of empathy, while others never even gave a glance. The flags carried on regardless.

Ten years since it happened. Ten more birthdays for my stepfather. Ten more anniversaries of the day that my grandparents wed — no longer a celebration of their moment, but now the deepest part of the deepest hole where my grandfather buries his loneliness.

September 11 is many things to many people. The day is marred with beginnings and ends and the stories of those still between.  It is like any other day, but only more so.

I can’t remember when I first wrote the string of words floating below, but I meant them and I called them a poem despite the broken form and blatant disregard for any thought of structure. Consider the chaos a reflection of it. Consider the typed words as a sterile version of those that once fell across a bourbon-soaked bar napkin, left to ripen in the forgotten pocket of some seldom-worn jacket. Consider them what you will, for yours is the freedom to do so.

On a September day
when school bells rang,
and leaves entertained thoughts
of leaving –
things went wrong in a world
that was much more right
than we ever thought it was.
On a September day
when the bells rang
for the dying.

I was fairly stationary as a child. I lived in the same house until college. Then I lived in the same area for another ten years. I was never more than 40 minutes away from anyone, friend, family or foe. Not that I had any foes, but I did have a love for alliteration.

I met my wife, and on a whim we hit the road. Once the moving started we couldn’t stop — kind of like dancing, except with less alcohol. My wife and I dropped pins all over the left side of the map. We were up, down and then up again. We had U-Haul on speed dial. Our last stop found us just outside of Seattle.

There are things here that we love. There are friendly people, incredible neighbors, wonderful summers, scenic beauty in every direction, fantastic schools and a sense of community that I haven’t known since my childhood. We live in a quaint town where roots are deep and well-watered. It is a perfect setting in which to raise a family.

But there are things that are dark and press against us, and the silver lining has become harder and harder to find within them. The clouds stretch from the sea to the summer, and their constant soaking leaves a layer of cold tucked tight between skin and bone. There will never be enough logs upon the fire.

Seasonal affective disorder comes and goes, literally with the seasons, but with each ebb it grows slower, and every flow seems more fond of shadows than sunlight.  Sadness grows like mold in the corners of our happy household.

The children do not go through bouts of depression, but rather sit beside them and grow restless and frustrated. They do not want to go outside into the cold and the rain, but they would enjoy it if we took them there.  The trips are few and far between. The children suffer secondhand, which is full of shame and lacking in justice.

We have tried to compensate with manufactured light, an overextended calendar and daily supplements, but all it has done is make us face the truth. It is time to pay heed to Harry Nilsson and go where the weather suits our clothes. It is time for sailing on a summer breeze.

Come June, when we are done with school and leases, we will follow our footsteps back to the sands of California. There is where opportunity awaits, and with it a warmth to bask in. Our running is equal parts to and from.

The leaving is bittersweet, and it packs a heavy heart, but the journey should find us nearly healed and the arrival somewhat lighter.

The ocean stretches from July to forever. We are the stones that skip across it.