Roots and wings


I schlep myself to the bathroom this morning and open the window to this beautiful sky and this promising day…and from this old house squatting over this neglected yard, I see the cheerful stoic sun hovering over that tiny structure…the one a little toddler @stevenkrivos used to call “DA barn.” And I think of two gentle men whose hands put that little shed up, the elder one who kept it neatly stocked with the yard tools that a normal responsible homeowner uses not only for his own property but for the lackadaisical neighbors 😉, that man and his bowling/golf buddy, my dad, up there in the sun and maybe giving me a wink, and too many of the next generation of the family up there with them. The little family next door moved down the road apiece now, just like my sisters…and now their kids and ours floating a bit further- #rootsandwings as my sister’s tat reminds us. This “compound” as Jeff jokingly called it nurtured three generations of us. I complain about this sagging property (the house and yard, not just my face and chest!) all the time but today, I just want to bear witness to the roots that allowed the wings. My mom next door, all my sissies not too far, their kids each just a little farther, and our dads and other sissies in the clouds. So thanks, little barn, for standing witness and not letting it all disappear. I SEE you, and I remember. Hap, George, Brian Krivos, Karen and Linda, we remember. Ellie and Dolores, we know you’re the real roots. And ALL of you grandkids, we know you’ve got the wings. Make sure your own kids have a chance at gnarly mighty old roots like these. And there you have it. This is what happens when I take a first-morning glance out a dirty screen at an old, wintered scene as spring promises to come home to the compound.

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