Slowly fading . . . .

Remember the photo in "Back to the Future" that keeps fading when "Michael J. Fox" messes with the past? That photograph is exactly how I've been feeling lately. Slowly fading away . . .

Not sure I can explain . . . maybe tomorrow.

Fireflies

I'll be back . . . . just sorting out the fireflies that are dancing around in my head. As soon as I get them turned down a notch or two, I'll be back to write again. Co9Mom

Another busy day has begun . . .

It’s 6:40 AM on a warm spring morning and I’m enjoying a peaceful sleep.

As I begin to awaken, my dreams keep pulling me back into that soft early morning slumber. My early morning dreams are the most vivid. Colors swirl with smells and sounds. Greens and reds, blues and oranges entice me back into this vivid dream world. The smell of dew on the early morning grass, coffee brewing, and the soft sound of dainty wind chimes hung next to the birdhouse in the tree outside our kitchen door.

I know a busy day awaits me, but slumber keeps pulling me back. The sweet smells begin to grow musty and irritating in my dreams. I’m lost in a world between dreams and the coming day.

What is the real world and what is part of my dream slumber?

I slowly open my eyes to the beginnings of a new day and am face-to-face with a long-haired teenager walking down the hallway outside my bedroom door. I close my eyes. The smell is pungent; an un-bathed teenager, no doubt about it. I am now rudely awake, but I close my eyes hoping only that my sweet dreams have not dissolved and that I can make the pungent odor go away.

Then I hear voices . . . . voices of children. They are whispering, but it is so loud inside my head that I try to imagine soft veils being drawn across the early morning stars for protection.

It is now 6:45 AM. Hopefully, sleep will overtake this rude awakening.

No luck.

I now realize that these whisperers are standing a few feet from the foot of my bed trying to fold blankets and whispering, whispering, whispering. I wait, hoping they will finish and return to play in the early morning sunshine and dew. Talking, talking, talking. I leap out of bed and banish them to the grass & trampoline in the backyard.

Another busy day has just begun.

A Wink and a Smile . . . or was it?

I met him one night over a campfire. We were part of a special archeological dig. Up at 5am, at work by six. Days were over by 3pm. Hot summer days. Humidity hovering near 97% . . . damp, wet, sticky days . . . and nights.

They were long, intense days of surveying, mapping, digging, screening and cataloging. The shade tarp cut the hot rays of the sun, but also blocked what little breeze there was. This wasn’t the hot southwest sun where the drying sweat cools the skin. Here it just soaks your clothes, sticks to the skin; the salty liquid runs and burns your eyes. Always wear a headband you were told. Take salt tablets. Drink lots of water. Carry an extra headband in your pack.

Early in the morning, a cup of coffee, a light breakfast. Grab your gear, jump on the jeep and head down the trail to the site.

A full day of work. Pick ax, machete, trowel and line level. You will need them all. Digging, surveying and mapping the open pits. Cataloging the artifacts. Mapping each one. A long, intense day . . . but each day goes so quickly. There is much to do. So much to learn.

At the end of the day a cool shower, clean tank and shorts. Or a quick swim in the river. Just watch for cottonmouths. Their bite can be nasty. Requiring a trip to the emergency room. Perhaps an overnight stay. Just leave them alone and they will, hopefully, leave you alone. Some mosquito repellent. A full dinner. Chicken fried steak, biscuits and gravy, some greens and sweet tea. A small piece of cake. Little conversation. Everyone is exhausted, hungry and thoughtful about the day’s work. Introspective.

Then it’s time to get work gear cleaned and ready for the next day of digging. Lay the next day’s work clothes out so you can just jump into them before dawn.

Nothing takes more than a few minutes, then it’s time to wind down. Start the campfire, set half dozen chairs out. Everyone gathers. Make sure the cooler has ice, soda, water and beer. Put your feet up. Grab a drink, take a deep breath and relax. Dusk. Just a couple hours ‘til that hard cot looks like a feather bed. Deep sleep awaits a tired body.

. . . And then he arrived. A new worker. He knows one of your digging companions. He will only be here for a few days. Shy and handsome. A sweet smile. Not yet sunburned. Muscles not exhausted from heavy, hot digging. He’s anxious to get started. He smiles and winks at you across the campfire. No one else noticed? Or if the do, they aren’t saying.

Up before dawn. Grab some coffee and a quick breakfast. Pull the lunch you made the night before out of the cooler. Head down the trail by 5:30. Digging by six. They’ve assigned the shy new stranger to your work crew. A hard worker. He’s done this before. Knows the ropes. Another wink and smile. Lunch comes at 10am. He asks if he can sit in the shade with you to eat. Of course you say “yes.” Polite talk. He asks few questions, but seems to instinctively know you. You are from entirely different worlds, but for this strong love of history you have in common.

That evening he’s back at the campfire again. This time he finds a chair next to you. Some whispered comments. A walk down the trail before bed. A kiss on the cheek goodnight. Digging days come early.

On your day off he invites you out to eat. You learn he has family just a few miles from the dig site. A drive in the countryside. A quiet cool dinner in a little diner. A strong connection begins to form. From this moment on you are inseparable.

Four more days, long nights of listening and learning. He returns to the city to work. In three days you will leave and drive the 17 hrs back to your home and job. Three empty days. Even the digging doesn’t make up for the loss. How can you miss someone so intensely that you just met?

Will he call? Will you see him next summer? Was it all just a dream of a wink and a smile?

More to come . . . .

Small Change

I have a jar.

Well, actually it is an old Coca-Cola glass mug.

This mug is the receptacle into which I throw my small change each night. It is full now . . . . and I am wondering what I should do with it. Should I put it in the bank? And if I do, should I continue to collect small change?

Should I get a larger container and just continue to collect small change?

I wonder how much I have in that mug? Is it enough to make a difference?
I've never counted it.

Could I buy a cheeseburger & fries? Or perhaps a bottle of wine?
Maybe it is enough to be a good start on a down-payment for something more significant? If I keep adding small change each night, perhaps I could soon buy a new tree for the yard? Or maybe a motorcycle? Or maybe even a long trip to sit on the white beaches of Sanibel Island?

I wonder . . . is there anything out of my reach, if I just keep saving my small change?