There was a quiet little stream that ran down through the rocks on the side of a mountain. I remember that everything was so crisp and green. The leaves on the trees and the earth was deep and rich with color.
I had never walked in the mountains before. I never went on a hike or went anywhere other than my normal running grounds, which were less than beautiful and far from this colorful.
It was the end of summer, 1989. I was still feeling achy but the aches were improving. I was only in a few days, and by this point, I was unsure when I would ever be back home again.
I know it has been a while since my last letter to you. So much has happened and I’m not sure if I know exactly where to begin.
I’m not even sure if you would believe me if I told you, but anyway, here it goes, Mom.
Are you ready?
I’m not sure if you get the news where you live but life has been interesting down here to say the least.
There is a deck that runs around the upper level at the back of my home. The view faces the Cobus, Horse Stable, and the Catamount, and Panther Mountains. It’s a nice view. I think you would like it.
At a time like this, I ask myself, “What would Mom say?”
With everything that goes on and with the world in a “time-out,” so-to-speak, I wonder what Mom would say about all this.
I assume Mom would tell me not to worry. I am sure Mom would tell me, “this too shall pass.” She would always say this when times were bad.
I admit it. . .
Time slips away from me. There are days when I run into myself as I come through the door. I burn the candle at both ends because life is a busy place to be. The toughest part about this are the moments I miss because life is always on the go.
I admit to the phone calls while driving in the car. I do this because these are the best times to talk without interruption or distraction.
The only problem is the moments are limited. The list of calls and people I need to catch up with is long, which means that time slips away. This means the distance between phone calls can grow longer than they should be.
There was a little stream that ran parallel behind the place on Lindell Boulevard. I’d walk there sometimes to enjoy the calmness of a Florida afternoon in Delray. There were so many things to notice, like the palm trees, or the pool behind the complex.
Some of the rear facing apartments had patios, which were mainly rented by people with grandchildren.
Most often the patios were empty with only a few toys that grandparents kept safe for their grandchildren whenever they would visit. There was something to the atmosphere that was comforting to say the least.
Old October and I was young on cold morning and the rain came in rushing in. The streets of Midtown West, the 7th Avenue Garment District woes and crazy times, rushed with people in quick hurries to beat the out-of-nowhere storm, which came in suddenly and without warning.
And me, there I was in a window seat at a coffee shop, writing a letter to my Mother, looking out the window and watching everyone scatter and run for cover.
I watched businessmen with briefcases put their newspaper over their head to shield them from the heavy rain.
Large gulp-sized drops fell from the sky and spattered on the ground in a chattering sound that could be heard from my place inside, safe from the rain.
Some were readied with umbrellas and some just ran through, trying to avoid the downpour, to avoid the curbside puddles, and the dirty splashes from crazy cab drivers, swishing through the street, eager to pick up a fare and make their ends meet.
I was sitting on the trunk of my car just around the time when the sun came up. I was tired. I was young but not so young anymore.
I was on the tail end of a long night, which was not unsuccessful by any means. But yet, I was stuck in a pattern of thinking.
I had just come from a night out with the boys. I had encountered a new girl with a name I never thought of or cared to ask about.
A lot happens in 30 years.
I was awake last night, asking myself about the things I have done and the places I’ve been to since this day back in 1989. I was only a kid then.
I thought about the people and the places I’ve seen and how I swore that I would never see them again, but yet, fate does what fate does.
Suffice to say that life has its own rhythm. Suffice to say that so do I and so do you. Life is funny down here on Project Earth.
Hello, my name is Ben and I a member of Christmas Anonymous, which means that at one point, I had a problem with the Christmas season. This is not to say that Christmas Anonymous is a real thing but for the moment it is.
The following is my qualification for membership, which, I have learned to overcome. And so, with hopes to reach those who’ve been through their struggling similarity; I offer this message of hope because although heartfelt, the truth is we can all overcome anything, should we so choose to.