Honea Express

Archive for the ‘Seasonal’ Category

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.

I’m alive. I haven’t left the building. Yes, there are cobwebs covered in icicles hanging on the hinges of Honea Express, but it’s not like I haven’t been busy.

For example:

My latest at DadCentric – One Foot in Front of the Other

My latest at BabyCenter – 2011: This One’s for the Boys

They said that 2010 was the year of the Dad Blog, and yet it was fairly quiet around these parts. I’m aiming to fix that. I’m not sure what fodder will fall to these pages, but whatever it is I hope you join me for the ride.

The following was Bill Watterson’s goodbye to Calvin, Hobbes, and us. I think it also makes a grand hello.

Hello, 2011. Welcome.

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My mind wanders through alliterated fields of frost-covered firs. The cat has on her winter coat and she is silently stalking sunshine between the strikingly shrinking shadows of suddenly stark trees. Not the firs, they are evergreen.

The lingering lines left by sun-soaked lumber lean and bend across a sea of long-lost leaves.  Mostly, cherry and maple. I pine for an oak.

I hide behind routine and repetition.

It is a sunny day forgotten by clouds and heavy rain. It should spark something inside of me. I should rise to seize it.  Yet I am weighed down by unknown troubles and those I know all too well.  One day a friend, the next day family, and before them more of the same fighting the cancers inside.  The future holds more fights and harder fists.

Also: The future ebbs and flows on the ballots of ignorance.

And: The future is all we have. We are reckless with our right to squander it.

The process is always and ongoing. It matters more than anything, and it matters very little.

Very little, indeed.

I am graced by the laughter of little boys and the life that they rush into.  I fear to tread, and I am more the fool because of it.

Troubles come and troubles grow, between them breathe the blossoms. Piles are raked of memories, and moving on, and those we could not hold on to.  They are best left for little boys with needs for things to jump in. These are the leaves that fall from my tree, reaching up to meet the downward.

The cat yawns. My branches are bare and beautiful.

This post is part of a series sponsored by Shutterfly. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective, which endorses Blog With Integrity, as I do.

I also blog with whiskey.

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I received your Christmas cards. All of them. They were fantastic, and your family is beautiful.  I see you got the sweater.

They are in a box of holiday cards from Christmases past, packed away with other seasonal memories. It’s something I do so that I never forget you.  They are somewhere between the snowflakes and the sleigh bells, just under the brown paper packages tied up with strings. Also, whiskers on kittens.

It seems like I just put the holidays away, and now my thoughts have already turned to unpacking them again. They are the things I remember, simply, when the dog bites or the bee stings — when I’m feeling sad. I think of the card you took time to send, and then I don’t feel so bad.

They are a few of my favorite things.

I’m writing this because my family and I are terrible about sending cards. We always have been and we always will. Sometimes we skip a year.  Other times they’re late. Often we lose an address or forget someone, or just decide we no longer like you.  That last part isn’t true, but it probably feels that way standing at your empty mailbox like Chuck Brown and that kid with the blanket.  Sometimes the things we don’t do hurt more than the things we did.

I’m writing this because I’ve been given an opportunity by Shutterfly.com to share their vast collection of holiday photo cards with you, the public.  They’re also giving me cards, which is nice.

The hard part is choosing the right card. This isn’t due to anything that Shutterfly does — they make it easy, but because when you care enough to send the best you want your best to be good enough.  That’s why my picture will most likely not be on it.  Man, my kids are cute.

Here are the designs I’m considering:

The Cheery Year Noir 2010 Christmas Card is simple and elegant. Kind of like me, but, as I mentioned, elegant. In a world that isn’t black and white, it still makes a great card.

The Wonder Trees Noir Christmas Card is fun, and the trees are a wonder, but you probably got that from the name.  It feels like family, and I hardly know these people.

The Family Letter Blue Christmas Card hits home on many levels. There is ample space for pictures of the kids and a whole sidebar for me to write stuff! I may just cut and paste this post.  Also, Blue Christmas is my favorite Elvis holiday song.

I’m not really considering the Retro Love Holiday Card, it’s not really my style, but doesn’t this dog look like a Muppet? Or ALF? Man, those nutty Sutherlands.

Here’s where you come in. Yes, you. If you’re a blogger and would like 50 Shutterfly cards for your own use, well, those people at Shutterfly will make it happen. It is the season and all that. Click the link above and you’re on your way. And goodbye, I’ll miss you.

So let’s pretend we’re close enough for me to send you a holiday card, which one of the above choices do you like best?