It was a year later and The Old Man was gone. Mom decided to take us all on a trip to Beaver Creek, Colorado for ten days. This was before Dave and Lisa were married.
I was only home for a few months. I was back from the farm in late September and still re-acclimating to the regular world. There rules from the farm were a thing of the past. I was free to listen to music or go out or eat whenever I chose. I was free to do several things; however, I was still adjusting to the change in my surrounding.
On the way
in, I never knew what to expect. Each trip was different and nothing was ever guaranteed.
But this was part of the ritual. This was part of the rush and part of getting
high. There was the act itself and then there was the ritual that goes along
with it. This is the romantic part everyone relates to, which is the crazy
because the romance is not only poisonous —it’s also contagious.
Every so often, I go on a website that calculates days between then and now. For example, the other day, I was trying to figure out how many times I’ve experienced the sunrise in my life.
The answer today would be 16,901. This means I’ve been around for that many mornings. That’s 2414 weeks and 3 days, or 46 years, 3 months, and 9 days to be exact, which is strange because the numbers seem odd to me.
The dream takes place in one of my previous homes. It is early morning and at the birth of sunrise. I am standing at the front door on stoop of my old home at a place called Rowehl Drive.
Looking across from me is an old tree that stands in the section of grass that runs between the street and the sidewalk.
The tree is old, mainly empty of leaves, and partially dead but partially alive as well.
I used to see this old tree on a daily basis. I admired the tree. I depended upon it to be there, to stand there, and to remain there regardless to people and their opinions, and to endure there, regardless to the storms that came our way.
The problem isn’t the thought; the problem comes when thinking overwhelms the mind. Suddenly, the outside influences penetrate the mind. They seep in and infect the system. Next the defense mechanisms kick in. The fear takes hold and the survival machine moves into position.
The problem is not the thought. The problem is the outside has seeped inside. The problem is the uncontrollable sources of people places and things have taken hold. The problem is the uncontrollable has become in control and then the mind loses control.
I know you don’t know me very well, but I needed to at least try and get this message to you.
Somewhere, way up beyond your stars and past all the planets and all the galaxies is a place where I think about.
I dream of this place. It is someplace where all my lost toys are found. This is where my first dog lives.
Her name was Tammy. She died when I was only 7. Somewhere up there is a farm where my dog Sheba runs around. She was a big black lab. She plays in the field because she has so much room to run around and be free. I know this because when I was a little boy, Mom told me this is where Sheba went after she couldn’t live with us anymore.
to be a graffiti sprayed on a construction partition over on 46th
Street near Madison Avenue that said, “This moment is more precious than you
think.” I used to see this when I would drive in on Saturday mornings, earlier
than the sunrise, and I always noticed the words which hit home.
I swear we
take too much for granted. Take this day for example. Today is Christmas Eve.
Today marks the evening of a great day. This is a day of giving. This is a day
of family. This is a time when all are gathered together and trust me; this
moment is more precious than you think.