The first chords strike the air
and reverberate through the crowd,
grabbing on to your soul.
The crowd comes together,
you can feel it begin…
At the front,
from side to side,
to the back,
moving as one.
We can all feel it,
coursing through our bones.
There’s nothing like,
a rock concert.
My garage is a veritable graveyard ode to BBQ. Sure, there’s the barrel that gives us delicious brisket. Over there on the side you’ll find the frankensteined Weber. Spattered between and around is quite possibly every bandaid that was a fraction of the cost of his heart’s desire.
Most did the trick for a smoke or two. Then the BBQ monster within began its fighting crawl back to his heart.
Dear god, what kind of creature have I married?? I ask myself as I say no thank you to the sauce and enjoy my St. Louis cut ribs. (True aficionados- where you at?)
The proper question is what have I become?
The monster clawed it’s way back in style this time around. It’s got another in its corner. Another who appreciates the fine bark on a properly smoked rack of ribs. Another who would savor some burnt ends.
Yes, honey, you should totally get that “as expensive as a family vacation” pellet smoker.
Yes indeed, what have I become?
“I don’t know, it had bones in it! Haley was reading it!”
” You know, it’s that one you read last week with the girls who kept per, pers, you know what I mean, they didn’t quit!”
“Where’s the other Tale of Two Kitties, we want to read it together.”
“Can I share my new Dogman with the kids on the wait list so they can read it sooner?”
“It has a giant wolf snout all up close like this” (insert child in your face here)
“I have to find out more about The Titans, you got more Myth stuff in your garage?”
“So we ordered three days ago, did they process our order yet or what?”
“Oh, that versus book? Yeah, check with Jamar. Dude, he’s got em all.”
“Oh. My. Gosh. There’s more of these? Go put them on the wish list!”
“It’s got this slimy slug thing on it and it’s by that funny knucklehead guy I think.”
“Mrs. Koehler, you’re still reading with all this slicing, yeah?”
Well I’ve got this groups of readers uncovering their reading lives. So yeah, I’m still reading.
My childhood memories are plentiful. I’d like to think that they are firmly implanted due to overwhelming and bursting feelings. That is partially true, but as I play the movies in my mind, there is almost always a faint click clicking mixed in.
Johnny Snapshot was the quintessential family recorder. Without Johnny Snapshot, the boxes upon boxes of photos in my upstairs closet might contain shoes. Without Johnny Snapshot, my childhood memories might be a lot more faded and a heck less interesting.
You can’t even dare say he missed out. Sure, there’s way more of his four than of all five. Yet, so big was his joy and pride that there was no way in hell he would miss out on securing all moments. We would not be that family looking back through old albums saying, “Where’s Johnny?”
Those snapshots help us fill in the blanks for our memories as the distance of time grows ever farther. Those snapshots freeze moments in time I never want erased from my highlight, lowlight, any light reel. Those snapshots with their 3x5ish size and always glossy finish, prevent the movies in my mind from taking on that gritty filmstrip vibe.
Those snapshots give my memories a boost. A boost that helps me picture that
terrible amazing mustache and towering cool swagger that you could see even in a photograph. A boost that gives you the slightest insight to that joy and pride seeping from every pore in his body so much so that you can almost hear his booming voice and unbridled excitement seeping out alongside.
While Johnny Snapshot is still so close despite the extraordinary distance from Earth to Heaven, any one of us would gladly fall into poses and take on goofy grins in order to add to our memories. All we are left with is the highlight reel.
I can feel her icy blue eyes before I can see them staring me down. No matter where I find myself, I can sense my new furry shadow.
It wasn’t always this way. Our bond was one of overnight snuggles and morning headbutts. She preferred it that way. Things have changed since we said good bye to her fuzzy partner. Mind you, their bond was one of mostly hissing and swiping on icy blue’s part.
At first she just lived up to her name and was a very gabby feline. Then she started showing up underfoot no matter the time of day. Gone was her aloof, I am better than you minions attitude.
I’m torn between thinking she is simply celebrating her long awaited command over our domain or is missing another presence that she can hiss and swipe at. She knows we humans don’t allow that type of miscreant around these parts.
What are you trying to tell us Miss Gabby?
Slam goes that cabinet door. Slam goes that other cabinet door. Slam goes another.
We don’t have that many cabinets in our small kitchen, so inevitably the next frustrated vent is punctuated by a foot stomp and perhaps a growl.
Where the %&*# is the colander?!?!
We are beyond blessed to have built in peeps to hang with our kiddo in the mornings and afternoons when my work schedule inexcusably does not line up with her school schedule.
Peeps who not only have bursting love for her built into their DNA, but peeps who have helping genes built in as well. Forever grateful will I be for the folded laundry, the swept floor, the organized shoes, the fed cat, the washed dishes. The lightened load that they provide is priceless. The moments I can steal for other parts of my life are because of those helpful genes. These peeps are beyond amazing and I am in return bursting with love for them.
But for the love of God, where the %&*# is the colander?
Yesterday’s Poemy Monday was put on hold for a slice that helped our shattered piggy hearts. So a day late, but here we are.
I’d like to tap out.
From the pokes,
I’d like to tap out.
From the tests,
I’d like to tap out.
From the vials,
I’d like to tap out.
From feeling like
a science experiment.
When all we wanted was
what should be natural.
I’d like to tap out,
and enjoy what is.