A Very Sunday Sunday
It is such a Sunday. Grey-cloaked skies have cast a dull, depressive pall over the world today. It started off well. Owen and Peter had stayed over and awakened happy and the morning was smooth. I did the things for my online classes. A little laundry. A hot bath. I have been reading Red, White, and Royal Blue because apparently I am all about gay man love now. Who knows? And it's all good. And I still feel-meh.
It's just that Sunday thing, I guess. It brings me back to high school, riding around town with my mom on cold winter Sundays. That empty feeling creeping under my skin. I was always happy to go to school, but even that couldn't cure a melancholy case of the Sundays.
I finally went out for a very short drive and NPR was talking about the movies of 1999. And there were some good ones. I saw several of them. Listening to those names roll off their tongue brought me back to that time. The happiest of times perhaps? Tierney and Caleb were preschoolers and Taryn was born in June of 1999. 1997 to 1999 are good memories for me. I was home with the kids, uncovering the joy of finding interesting things online. The warmth of Hawaiian days, palm trees swaying and airplanes roaring overhead, filled my life on an air force base. I read so many stacks of books, classics and the ever-present nonfiction books. I found a birthing web site and ordered a birth kit and delivered Taryn in the near perfect labor and delivery quietly in my own bedroom. I watched and rewatched my favorite movies. Always on holidays and birthdays, there was slight isolated undercurrent of being too far away. The awareness that I was thousands of miles from anywhere surrounded by the sea was overwhelming at times. At night when the sun went down and the palm fronds swayed and swished in the breeze, a thousand ghosts crept closer to our small lighted existence. I lay on the grass swatting mosquitoes and watched a thousand stars move across the sky. And my ex would invite his friends and play guitar and we would sing and drink a hundred drinks to youth and happiness and knew even then, it was good.
So nostalgia pushed the grey back to the corners of my mind, and I drove back home. I turned on the lamps and put the salmon in the oven. And I think to myself, the sun will shine again soon. And this time, too, is good.
Comments
Post a Comment