jumpingfish

Two college students are in the dining room now.  Back in town for at least a few more days. They’re sitting at the table playing Scrabble. One from the Pacific Northwest. One from the Midwest. Both back home from a long ways away.

And it got very quiet in there all of the sudden. I haven’t heard anything for twenty-five minutes. They seem to be taking it quite seriously.

As well one should, right? Scrabble is serious business.

This liberal arts education thing is working. Right? Right. Although … you know … they both get perplexed looks on their faces when we ask them, “And so what do you think you’ll do with your degree when you get out of school?”

Oh, the dreaded question: “What are you going to do.” So easy for the engineer or geologist to ask. (It was always so obvious to us.) So hard for them to contemplate much less answer with more than vagaries and a wave of the hand.

That’s fine. Silence and words go together well. Very well, I’d say.

1. Crazy On You

The stereo in the study was playing loudly. Heart: Crazy On You. Oh, the guitars—an excellent song to crank the stereo to.

Ben was in the living room passing judgement on the parental choice of tunes. Some got a thumbs up, some not. When this one came on, he looked up and asked, “Is this Talking Heads?”

Trudy and I looked at each other in instant horror.

“What are they teaching the kids in college these days, anyway?” Trudy asked.

2. Boy and Dog

Home for the holidays, the boy is on the couch with the dog.

Both are reclined after a fashion, the boy whispering into the dog’s ears. And Guinness wagging his tail as fast as he possibly can, jumping into the boy’s face and pushing his black body against the boy’s chest.

He is clearly happy that the boy is home again.

3. To Look at Ribbons

“Do you want to look at ribbons?” he asked her.

They were on sale, you see—60% off. And, well, she likes ribbons, and so it was a very sensible thing to ask.

“Oh I have such a wonderful husband,” she said, spreading her arms and giving him a hug and a kiss right there in the middle of the aisle. “He comes with me to the crafts store and asks me out loud for all to hear if I want to look at ribbons!”

But they were on sale, you see—60% off. It really was a sensible thing to ask.

We stood there under the Zilker tree, the three of us, stuffing sweet/salty kettle corn into our mouths as fast as we could chew and swallow. There was no yule log this year, and it was cold out, but the kettle corn was hot, so we were happy.

There were little kids running around, watched closely by their parents. There were high school kids staring up at the strings of colored lights running up to the star at the top of the moonlight tower. There were people walking around sipping hot chocolate. And there was a couple hugging.

Wait, the couple hugging: he was on his knees hugging her around the legs, looking up at her, and she was standing there smiling at him, listening to something he was saying. And wait: he was standing up now, and there were tears running down her face. And she was kissing him. And they were hugging again. And she was wiping the tears from her cheeks and kissing him and hugging him and crying some more and hugging some more.

We stood there, the three of us, stuffing our kettle corn into our mouths. And I pointed at the couple.

“I think he just asked her to marry him.”

And still we stood there eating our kettle corn while he and she walked over to some friends (who seemed to come from nowhere). They were all smiling, and a white light periodically flashed from her hand.

I waited a while and then handed the kettle corn to Trudy, whose face was now grim, because she knew where I was going.

I walked up to the couple after their friends had left. “Did I just see what I think I saw?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes!” she said. The were beaming.

“Very nice,” I said. “Congratulations!” We shook hands.

I walked back to where Trudy and Karen where standing. For a few more minutes we stood there under the tree, looking at all the people, looking up at the lights and the star at the top and the almost-full moon in the sky overhead, stuffing kettle corn into our mouths until one of us (I don’t remember who) said, “I think I’ve had enough.” So we twisted our bags of kettle corn shut and walked back to the car.

It was a nice enough way to end the day. Although it was cold, we enjoyed the lights and the people and the snacks. But we probably won’t remember it quite as long as those other two do.

We were driving west, she in her car ahead of mine. Racing along the highway. Going home.

The sun had set, and all that was left was a fading light on the horizon. Night was almost upon us. It was dark in the east. Only a red slice of day lingered in the west.

I turned my head now and then to watch, daring only momentary glances away from the road. The black horizon was decorated with the lacework of distant trees. And great Oaks stood in the fields, just beyond the fence line, silhouetted against red.

I wanted to stop. To pull off the road. To pull out the camera that I did not have. To freeze those moments that were speeding by. To capture those leafless trees standing before that glowing sky. To force myself to remember that moment. To not let it fade away as so many moments do.

Did you see them? The black Oak silhouettes against the fading sky? Did you see them?

I did. I remember them. And it was something.

1. Visions of Hot Chocolate

Dateline: Central Texas.

Yesterday we sat outside eating sandwiches and trying to find a shady spot, squinting our eyes from the blazing sun.

“It’s hot!” Trudy said.

Indeed it was. And she didn’t have sunblock on, which was the cause of some conversation.

Not bad for early December, by my estimation. Just the reason that I never returned to the Midwest from here.

But the winds picked up in the afternoon, and by this morning, winter had descended upon us (again)—winter by our standards, anyway: 47 degrees at 8:30pm. And tonite as we walked back home from the soccer fields with Orion climbing in the eastern sky and the dog pulling at the leash for the warmth of our humble abode, we had visions of hot chocolate dancing in our heads.

2. Getting Good at Layering

Dateline: Northern Ohio.

Of course, Ben’s at Oberlin not far from Lake Erie where it snows in the winter and where water freezes as it falls from the sky.

“Are you enjoying your freshman year?” I asked Daniel.

He was on the calling bank trying to get donations from parents. (Try me after my son has graduated I said at first, but I ended up getting suckered into a token donation.)

“Well …” Daniel said with some trepidation, “it snows here.”

I laughed out loud and said that I knew what he was talking about.

“Do you have a good coat?” I asked.

“Oh I have three, and I wear them all at the same time. I’m getting very good at layering.”

Yes, I suspect that our 47 degree cold would seem downright balmy up there right now.