Sunday, November 25, 2007

Momentary Memories

I took a Vicodin yesterday afternoon. Mom and Dad coaxed me into joining them for some errands though a migraine had lurked menacingly behind my latest dose of Excedrin. I whined a bit, but climbed in the back of Mom's Jeep and we went to get pizza. A local team won a football game - their first victory in years of attempts at a state title. I may have attended some pep rallies personally more than ten years ago for teams of my peers.

"He doesn't have his name on his shirt." Mom noted as the three of us craned our necks to see the television mounted to the corner of the wall as we waited for our pizza.

"None of them do." I recalled. "No names on the jerseys or those stickers on the helmets. It's all about the team, not individual recognition. I always liked that." I mused, reminded of time spent in classrooms where many, many young men wore red jerseys with white numbers on Fridays in the Fall. None had names on them.


We walked through Walgreens to pick up a few random items. As Mom and Dad looked at dog dishes for Brother's dog - he wants her to have one that's elevated, the Vicodin kicked in and I grew suddenly woozy and happy. I smiled because the pain had ceased and a foggy head is better than a painful one. But then, I've taken those pills before. I recall becoming rather silly.


We went to church this morning - just Mom and me since Dad decided to spend his birthday morning at home. The announcements were long - it's a congregation of elderly people who fill very few of the pews. So someone wanted everyone to know her son had visited with his family and dogs. Someone else is having surgery on Tuesday and another couple is traveling. I felt bored and impatient, rather upset I hadn't opted out of services myself. Yet as the sermon neared completion, the power went out. There was only the light filtered through clouds and stained glass in blue and yellow and the candles flickering on the altar. It was lovely and quiet as the heaters stopped humming and the fans high in the ceiling slowly twirled to a stop. Those minutes - the end of a the sermon and the final hymn completed in dark and quiet - were well worth the trip. They felt sacred.


I put together a treasure hunt for Dad's birthday presents that he can complete with Little One after we all have dinner in an hour or so. We'll return to the house and have chocolate chip cookies instead of cake and they can find the rhyming clues I've carefully placed around the house and find the various birthday (for Dad) and un-birthday (for Little One) gifts I've hidden. It might fall flat, but it seemed worth the effort for a chance at one more memory before I call this holiday trip over and head home.


They did enjoy the treasure hunt. "When food is cold, you put it inside. But in there right now, a present will hide!" yielded a package in the microwave. "If you were a dog who wanted to walk, what would you need? Hint: Look by the clock!" was a clue on the leash. "Hurry, hurry, don't dawdle. Run to the garage and look by the bottles!" found Dad's trailer lights. "Stay in the garage and go to the Jeep. Look in the back and a present you'll keep!" earned them a coloring book for Little One. "Now go inside and walk down the hall. Turn into the bathroom and look by the wall!" They found the cannister of mixed nuts in the bathtub and the final clue. "You're nearly done, but first let me see. You'll find 2 last presents under the tree!" It took me a little while to come up with those, but my family has requested I do another one for Christmas. So apparently watching all those Charmed episodes paid off - I can sort of rhyme.

Little One toddled around the house after clues and presents. Then we ate cookies and read stories and sang to Dad. Dad talked to Smallest One as she sat in her car seat on the table. She tries so hard to communicate with him - she does smile and open her mouth to try to form words. She's a darling. I love those girls so much it hurts and when Little One demanded I carry her out through the last little bit of snow that fell, I took a moment to snuggle her close before I buckled her in her booster seat.

"I'll see you in a couple of weeks."

"When it snows again, you'll come home." She said with a bit of a pout. "I'll miss you."

I really want to get closer to home - it's too hard to be away from them when I realize how much I'm missing.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

you are so awesome! that treasure hunt sounds fabulous.

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