jumpingfish

We shift now to our recent trip to Ottawa, a trip from which we recently returned. What follow are several stories of that vacation…

I suppose we should have been disappointed that we slept in. The two-hour Winterlude One-Block Challenge had started at 8:00am, and we would arrive an hour later. But no, we were not disappointed. What luscious luxury it was to sleep long.

After a breakfast of fried eggs and toast, Dad and Khadija drove us from their condo to downtown Ottawa. Our original plan was to take the bus, but what a lazy luxury it was to be chauffeured.

And it was yet another luxury when they drove right past Confederation Park (our nominal destination) and dropped us off instead at a Tim Horton’s.

We hopped out of the car, adjusted our hats and mittens and sinched up our backpacks, as they pulled away from the curb and merged back into the morning traffic.

And we stepped into the coffee shop to have two large cups with cream.

My story seems to be stuck in Kentucky even though I returned almost two months ago.

There’s so much other stuff to talk about—riots in Athens as the schemes of Euro-bosses and technocrats seems to wash up on the rocks week after week, political calculus and triangulation in the United State that makes concessions to religious institutions and their ability to trump the law, capitulation to the banks and an utter rejection of the notion that any of them should be held accountable in any fashion for housing fraud.

Yep, so much other stuff to talk about. So let’s get to the point of this Kentucky trip, shall we?

We were at Berea College to see my cousin walk across the stage. We were there—aunts, mothers, sisters, brothers, cousins—to see him sit up there under the lights, maybe to sweat a bit in anticipation, to stand at the podium and share some wise words with the graduates, to receive an honorary degree.

“Are you with the President’s party?” a man asked as we walked into the chapel.

Why yes, we were.

We sat in the audience as the faculty in their flowing gowns filed in with the winter graduates following behind. We sat as families and friends cheered the students and as the organist played Brahms chorales. We sat and listened to the President’s welcoming words and to the invocation. And we sat and listened to a medley of songs sung by the black music ensemble.

And then Mr. Burt Lauderdale (Yes that’s my cousin up there on the stage, do you see him?) was presented the Honorary Degree of Doctor of Humane Letters. At which point, he approached the podium with a damp forhead and addressed the graduates on the topic of community, organizing community.

That evening, we sat down to eat at the table. We sat there—aunts, mothers, sisters, brothers, cousins—tired but thrilled to be together with Dr. Burt Lauderdale at the head of the table.

“We have a card for you,” I said.

We passed it down the table to where he sat.

“It’s blue,” I said, “for Berea’s colors.”

“Ah,” he said (as he does). “Then the b must be for Berea.”

No, Burt, that wasn’t it. The b was for you.

Up before the dawn, 4:00.

They hop out of bed at my first request, not dallying as they so often do.

They whisper encouraging words and rub my chin.

I like it when they rub my chin.

Walk in the backyard to potty.

So many other things to do, and they let me do them.

Then zoom into the house through the doggie door.

Straight to the bedroom where they let me in the bed.

Under the covers.

Sleep until daylight.

An egg for breakfast.

Just learned of this tradition from Mr. Guinness.

A fine tradition, although I would prefer an egg to myself.

And a full bowl of kibble to chase the egg down.

Mommy doesn’t leave for work today.

So I don’t have to watch at the storm door as she drives off.

And the Man is home today.

So I can sit in his lap and gaze out the window as he works.

Lunchtime comes quickly.

They give me kibble, forgetting they’re weaning me from lunch.

How excellent is that that they forgot!?

I love my crunchy kibble.

Sunny day and blue skies and dappled spots of warm on the lawn.

Hellos to Daisy and Winchester next door who are mercifully quiet, today.

Hellos to Doc and Lacie on the other side.

A fine canine neighborhood, this.

Katelyn and Ashlyn behind us come home from school with a friend.

They ask me over to play, and I get to go.

Something we’ve all been asking for a very long time.

Dinner punctually at 5:00.

Not 5:05 like when The Man is in charge, and I have to remind him of the time.

Kibble with apples and cheese, and can you believe it, another egg!

Chase and fetch and a long walk in the woods.

And untethered zooms across the soccer field.

What is it with these tethers, anyway?

Play with the soft orange kitty down the street.

She’s not so scary, after all.

Zoomies around the house when we get home.

And a tasty bison bone to chew on.

A soft, fuzzy bed on the couch.

Some more zoomies.

Some rolling around on my back on the carpet.

I am getting so sleepy.

And would you believe it, I get to fall asleep in their bed deep under the covers!

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

My brother and I met at the airport in Louisville. He had flown from Chicago and I from Austin. He rented a car and drove us to Berea.

Berea, Kentucky is not all that large, and Boone Tavern is hard to miss. We found it despite my dubious performance as a navigator, and we pulled up at the doors. As we walked in, standing right there inside was a large contingent of our family.

Our cousin Jenny Bea was there. Our aunts Vicki and Bette were there. Our mother was there. And although we missed them by mere minutes, Mark and Jack and Julia and Katherine had just been there. You could almost hear echoes of their voices in the hall.

So there we are standing there in front of the gas fireplace, which for all its ambiance put out no heat when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and there standing just a foot away was my cousin Burt and his wife Jenny.

“Aaah!” I shouted.

The plan was for my arrival to be a kind of surprise, and yet he ended up surprising me—with that gotcha grin that he’s given me so many times over the years.

No greeting could have been more appropriate.

Sunrise 3

Your days are dull and pass uneventfully. With the days of your youth far behind you and your days of shining dreams dashed by the years, you find it hard to smile. You can’t jump for joy, because there is so little to jump over. You live your life with a cloud hanging over your head.

They see it in you—your friends, your colleagues, your family. They see the black spirit that occupies your soul. And even though you know that they see it, even though you see it in yourself, and even though you wish that it were otherwise, you are powerless against it.

Breathe in, breathe out.

You gaze out the airplane window. It is cloudy. It is winter. And the day is cold and grey.

But the airplane doesn’t care, and the pilot doesn’t care, and the clouds outside don’t care, because this is just another morning, and even though it is a grim, dreary day, the sun is out there somewhere for someone who is smiling just because of it.

The plane breaks thru the clouds. White wisps flash over the wings. A blue sky blazes overhead. And the rising morning sun shines in your eyes. It makes you squint. It makes you think. And it finally—finally—makes you smile.