July 29, 2006

060729 Walk in Kimbrook

                Saturday, July 29, 8:26 PM  Iam out walking.  It's been raining and it briefly cooled off,but it warmed upp again and is hot, steamy and huid,ugh, and getting dark already.  A man Iam passeing gives me a disgusted look because his dog is abrking and lunging at me as if I'm doing soemthing wrong bywalking here, but HEis on the wrong side of the street and has white hair,so he's old enough to know better.  A car goes by and nearly sideswipes me and I'm walking in thedaitch and theroad is wide enough for three or for cars to pass and no one is coming.  Aiee.  And not because hecan't see me, it's notthat dark.  He's got a stick up his butt or something.

                I hear a "bell song" but itis not the samebell song, but a different one.  I can see the birdplainly at the top of a dead tree but it is toosmall and dark tomakeout what it is.

                The cicadas are going nuts  

                After nearl6y beaing sideswiped, I run way up into the wet grass everytime a car comes which is surprisingly often.

                I wish I could walk somewhere else, but am trying to save time by not driving anywhere,sincetimeseems of anessence.

                I was recalling, in the grocery store, a funny and soemwhat poignant discussion,or series ofdiscussions with Grahamthat I thoughtmight make a good piece and also goodmaterial to put in one of thestories I'm theoretically working on.

                My son,Grahamand Iwere visiting my daughterErin, and Iwas making a big fuss over my grandpuppy, Mr. Rochester. Mr. Rochester, was,infact, nota puppy at all, but Ilike to referto him as mygrandpuppy, since he'smydaughter's dog andit's fun to be silly with him. 

                "Oh, Mr. Rochester," I cried, in a high-pitched silly voiice, "what a good dog you ar!"  The Itold him tosit.  "Goooood Boy,!" I squealed.

                Graham was eleven at the time,and very serious.  He wanted to be takenseriously, to be treated with repsct.  So Iwas suprised when he asked me, "How comeyounever ttell me I'ma good boy?"

                "Well," I stuttered, temporarily at aloss for words, "I do.  Ialways tell youwhen youdo agood job, and whenyou makemehappy."

                "Not like that!" Graham insisted.

                "Do you want meto talk to you like that?"  I asked.

                "Yes!" he said.

                For a while, I tried to enject a littlemore enthusiasmand gaity into my praising ofhim, but when wewere away from Mr. Rochester,hesoon forgot his jealosy and was aptly pleased with moreappropriate praise.

                A short timelater, Iwas leaning against Keith and telling him inmy silly romantic voicehow much Iloved him and how sweet and cute he was.  Graham came into the room andsaid,howcomeyounever talk to me likethat?"

                "Because," Iansweree, "You'remy son and the apple of my eye, you'remy little sweetei and Dad ismy big sweetie, and there'sa difference between the two.  I love you both,but I love you indifferent ways."

                This is the smae boy who goes off to school without even sayinggoodbyemost of the time.  If Iwant a goodbye hug, I have to grab himand give it to him.  At famnily gatherings,if there are nochildren, he wants to sit in my lap andbe my baby,butif there are children, I'm no different than a pieceoffurniture.

                When he asksme to make hima milkshakeandhe runsoff with it, without a thank you, I wantto say, "How come youdon't tell me I'ma good girl?" but I don't.  Whenhe says he'll run offandlive with Aunt Sandy if I'm mean to him, Iwant to say, "How come you don'tme the way you love her?" But Idon't.

                I know that loveis enduring.    And thatwelove each person differently. That thereareups and down in our feelings,and that our attention is sometimes diverted elsewhere, but the lovecontinuesunderneath. 

                I amblessed by the fact that Graham,now 12,is suprisingly affectionate still,that he is warm,and capableof actsof great kindness and love, and I can rmemeber this,usually, whenhe seems to be ignoring me.

                IfI seem to be ignoring him, I have to remember that heis still a child,and that it is hardforhim toremember the deep enduringnature oflove, howit runslike a riverunderneath everything.  If he's feeling ignored, orsecond best, I have to tell i love him  I have tolove himthe best I caninthe waysthat Ilove him, uniquely.

                ]]]]

                It's gotten very dark,andI didnotbring a headlamp. Sharon and Frankrode by on their bikesand Iwas wishingto ride mebike, but BOTH ofmy bikes are in Michigan because I thought Iwas moving there.

                It'shot and steamy andsummery, buttheearth has tippedawayfromthe sunand deasonsarechaging. Tuesday is Midsummer Day,and it is easy to see that we're progressing rapidly toward the equinox.  Dark drak dark, so soon,so early.

                The air is full of bats and I hope they eat of some of these mosqitoes!

                9:12 Iamhome,only walked 43minutes,but I tookMom for a walk and walked at Wegman'sso I hope that's good enough.  I need to get on=line wth Keith,even though he may not beback from Gails.

                Considering I wrote the above in complete darkness, it isnot as bad as itmight havebeen.

                9;15 PN,he'snot there yet,but healmostalways signsina fewminutes late according to my clock.  So,hemay be coming,or hemay be in Jackson or somehwere inbetween.  He never said.