Bounding stairs at week’s end, even this half-full gent was feeling half-empty. The week had been hard — busy not bad — and downtime was limited. ‘Tween the clowns in my business and the tightrope (Aunt Helen), I felt quite the acrobat. It was Friday, alas, and I plopped on the bed.
Crashing face up …in my clothes…thinking.
To my left was a window, and in thoughtless mind I stared at the same sky to which my morning prayers were sent. I was tired. Drained, I guess, but not quite sure why. Down a bit, but for no real reason.
For a split second –OK, maybe a minute – I grumbled within that my children’d left town. For a moment or so I reveled at the thought of devouring a large pepperoni pizza from Geraci’s. (I wouldn’t do it, of course, but trust me: as I looked out that western window I well could smell it).
Then my eye caught a piece of the wall: a blue tambourine, to be exact. It’s a compact thing, blue, the size (let’s say) of Geraci’s small pizza. And on it, top-center blaring out, it reads “MAX”.
—And with one glimpse my smile returned—
I moved to East Groveland in 2012. It was Carrie’s house to be sure, yet from Day One she made it my home.
Especially, I might add…where we sleep.
It’s a funny set-up, that room: More Fenway than Feng shui, our bed sits in the center as an un-elevated pitcher’s mound eying the field. It was from the eye of that needle last Friday, that I surveyed the park and my home, now a sanctuary.
Laying on my back, skies of blue peeking in, I felt comfort. The left field wasn’t Boston’s; it was warmer. More like Wrigley—“friend confines” and all.
Max was 8 on my clock; at 6:30 was Adam. (No, not stolen Adam, the sequel that lives in Chicago. I’m speaking, rather, of a framed painting of The Adam, tri-colored sheltie that thrived on Bayard. Carrie’d put it there early on—rescuing the portrait from dusty relics in my cartons — and dare I say that dog is “well hung”?).
Then at 10 were our children. Hers and mine… young and old… assembled together (for only our eyes). Pix as tots and tuxedoed it works well for us. (Especially for those of us with kids out- of-town).
Funny thing about laying in bed…clothed…alone…and being a half-full kind of guy. Stopping, musing a bit, midst family and love I returned to Grateful.
I could mention much more, by the way. Posted plaques of my plays…framed small Tees of her infants….and my rack full of ties I’d promised my children to throw out….
It was pushing supper and time to move on. We would stop at Tommy’s, grab dinner for Leesa, then I’d head to a meeting. Five fingers per hand and five toes per foot I had life by the …..
Again.
With love near and far—both rested and centered — I rejoined the world.
Lucky I was, and I knew it, to be safe
And at home.