Arguing With Ghosts

January 26, 2019
Saturday morning 8:28 AM
(Up since 3:30)

If love ever comes again
I hope it brings a sandwich
For then, when it flies away
Maybe I won’t be empty inside.

(From an old note . . . )

I had a doctor’s appointment this week – just a checkup following the Memorial Day Weekend fun. All my tests were surprisingly good. Amazingly good actually. And yet, the voices keep telling me this is my last Spring, my last year, my last time in the sun, my last time of arguing with ghosts, and wallowing in memories that burn through the night.

On Monday, I stopped by Maple Springs Cemetery on the way back from getting the crew going on the next Estate Sale. As always, I spent a little time standing there at Mother’s feet. Then went to her stone, touched it for a moment, and let the silent voice fill me. I took a couple of steps to bend down at Johnny’s stone and just gave it a little touch. You know, like the nudge a boy would give his younger brother, in lieu of a hug. Still seven years old, nearly sixty years in the ground. Too few hugs in those early years and none at all now. Let’s grab that old cliché – rest in peace. . .

Time to find some sunshine in this day. What’s that word I always use? Always say. Oh, yeah – fun. I need to go find the fun.