…with probable thunderstorms
“Dad, why can’t I go now?”
“Because they’re not open yet.”
“I could help them!?!”
“No, its technical, adult, commercial…you’ll go help them out for a couple of hours later, and…”
“….I know, I’ve got to listen to them, help but not get uh, in the way, stay calm, remember I’m eight and a half, blah blah….it sucks being a kid, big time.”
Try being an adult. Now that’s a big time suck state.
My brother is travelling across Northern Italy on a wine trip….across the land of my father.
My sister is emptying her basement so it can become the lair for her teenage kids.
I’m accompanying my little merchant in a beloved activity where selling is not about money but about friends and social gatherings.
We are all returning to our lives?
We never left the daily rumble of sun and rain and thunders and pain and sadness and absurd laughs and occasional pleasures.
Death and life are as necessary as a terminus to a bus or a cleanup to a party.
“Dad, can we go now?”
“In an hour or so….”
“Keep talking and it’ll be in a couple of hours or so….”
He runs off waving his arms in semi-mock despair.
My Mother is dead.
I keep having to say it, to realize it.
But remembering the dead does not mean forgetting the living. Make an effort.
“Noah, wanna go for a soft ice cream? Before you go to the tea stand.”
He’s already down the stairs.
Take advantage of the hot, sunny days gorged with humidity… they are filled with the threat of lightning and thunder, and that’s a good thing.
It must be since its inevitable.
Like life and death and love and hurt.