These are the mornings that should last an eternity. Alas, eternity isn't nearly as long as most people think it should be. As the steam rises from the mug and Hawthorne looks for that spot that's just right, I know these moments are numbered, and somehow it makes me appreciate them all the more.
When I used to dream of home ownership and adulthood, I pictured myself reading the paper on a sunny spring morning wearing nothing but a white terry cloth robe, sipping a mug of coffee at a bistro table on a flagstone patio surrounded by plants and flowers; a neighbor would wave cheerfully as he gardened in his own yard; children would be heard in the distance as they boarded the bus for school; a bird would sing happy little notes and tunes. I would reach my hand across to my husband, wearing a black terry cloth robe and drinking tea, his chest hair catching the morning light enticingly, and we would know what contentment truly was. It was sickeningly sweet, this daydream of what it would be like to be an adult living my life filled with Brim, Calgon, and Kodak moments...
The reality is even more beautiful, however, albeit in a by-way-of-Siberia type of way. As I lift the Folgers once again to my lips, I hear through the window the soft sounds of Rich's snoring. A crow caws loudly, sending Hawthorne on a quest to see if he's low enough to be worth chasing. Beaux claws at the screen door, making a paw-print mosaic on the storm windows recently installed to ward off the winter chill which comes regularly now. Having worked for the money that paid for this coffee, the mug it's in, the deck I'm standing on, the animals which depend on me for food and water, the food and water itself... It's not "peaceful," this moment of the morning, but I cherish it nonetheless. So much more alive than I ever dreamed, so much harder to attain than my childish mind could ever have imagined...
A song from my childhood drifts into my ears, something about this train of thought triggering a memory, and I find myself quietly singing, "Mamma's, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys... Don't let 'em pick guitars or drive them old trucks... Let 'em be doctors and lawyers and such!" And then the words of the song fade away from my lips. I know my parents had dreams of a better life for us kids, and while I can't presume to know exactly what those dreams entailed, I know the myriad of things we kids put them through--what we put ourselves through--were never in their wildest imaginations as they greeted each of us into the world one at a time. As I think of the current struggles we all face--uncertainty in where Mom and Dad will live, if I will still have a job in another month or two, if my sister will live long enough to see her daughter grow up and get married, if my brother will ever get back together with his wife, if my other brother will have his dream of fatherhood, if my other sister will find the peace she seems to constantly seek...
None of us grew up to be cowboys, but none of us quite made it to doctor and lawyer status either. Nothing seems certain these days, and I am past the times when I could dream without reservation, if only because I've lived enough years to know that reservations can sometimes make dreams more attainable--when its not crushing them out of existence, that is. Reality has a way of teaching you what works, what doesn't, and that ultimately there are just some things you can't control--you can only hope for the best while preparing for the worst.
And while there are certainly jobs I can think of that would be much worse than growing up to be a cowboy (how many kids you know want to grow up to be a barnacle-cleaning scrubber?), I still nurse quite a few dreams which I'll most likely never attain (not least of which would be sleeping with Keanu Reeves!), but there are a few as well on that "doable" list. I may have that bistro set on that flagstone patio yet! Have that perfect cup of coffee while wearing a white terry cloth robe. Heck, I still have time, if I so desire, to diversify my ab into abs! I'm not sure there'll be six of 'em down there when I finally get around to working on that one, but I can still dream...I call the dog into the house, catch Beaux as he makes his routine morning escape dash through the open storm door, and finish up the last bit of coffee resting at the bottom of my mug. As I plant a soft kiss on Rich's cheek and leave for work, the song once more plays through my head and out my lips, but this time...
It seems a bit more optimistic...:Some dreams can still be made reality... It'll just take a bit more work... And time... And holding on to those dreams...
Cowboys ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold,
They'd rather give you a song than diamonds or gold,
Lonestar belt buckles and old faded Levi's,
And each night begins a new day,
If you don't understand him, and he don't die young
He'll probably just ride away
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys...
Having Keanu Reeve's phone number probably couldn't hurt either...
No comments:
Post a Comment