Early November. Early morning. I'm riding in the bed of a pick up at 7am. I'm on an errand for my father-in-law, doing a job he loves to do every fall, delivering split wood for the winter to everyone in his immediate family — to his house, to his mother's house, to his sister's house, to his sister-in-law's, to my home. The sky is blue and orange. The air is cool. I feel like a kid riding in the back of the pickup. The same excitement, the same giddy thrill of moving so quickly through the cool air.
Riding this way, exposed, changes these well-travelled routes. The road moves like a river below the truck. Like a hull, the truck bed produces the same hollow metal sounds as a canoe bouncing through small waves — thunk thunk as we go over potholes in this cement tributary. But unlike water, the gray surface below us is resolute. It wouldn't give if I dove in over the side. Still, I hold these wonderful illusions for another moment - we are floating on water, I am a boy, the world is new.
The air bites. The truck's speed gives chilly teeth to it and it wakes me up. I clap my work gloves together as we stop. Time to work. Wake up. Wake up.
Posted by Red Chuck at November 3, 2005 09:44 AMHey bro -
That reminds me of how we used to move firewood at that lot near P-G back in middle school - our earliest volunteer effort. We'd drive your burgundy Civic hatchback (what did we call it? - the Sportster?) over at 7am in the bitter cold Saturday mornings in winter and stay warm practicing our spasms and shudders for the next Curious George gig. Is there a pattern developing here? A calling?
We're thinking about you guys here in Greensboro as we gather to celebrate Mama's life. Louis and Nicole joined us last night with Butch and Suzie at Parker's - new family history being created. Driving up yesterday I was remembering the time that you and I took Mama out to that seafood place at Wrightsville. There was this terrifying moment when she choked on a clam and we felt utterly helpless until the clam popped out and we all breathed a collective sigh of relief. And then laughter. What a sense of humor she had. Despite her infirmity most of our lives, Mama was always the first to laugh. If we strained to understand her at times, you ultimately got the jist of what she was saying when she ended a statement with tremendous laughter.
Have her in your thoughts with us today.
Lots of love,
bro