My Simple Soundtrack

It would always take a long time for our water to get lukewarm.  So, my childhood mornings were partially spent in our only bathroom.  It was the 80’s--water conservation was not on my radar, and Boy George was my daily soundtrack.  The frigid water ran at full-force while I methodically brushed my crooked teeth.  By the time I was done, the tepid liquid would coat my round face in some form of readiness.  As I stumbled into an awkward trot towards teenagedom, my morning-routine-thoughts would be rampant.  Will I ever fill an A-cup bra?  Will I get in trouble for leaving class and climbing a ladder to the top of the high school?  A woman nursing a hungry man--Steinbeck is a genius.   Over time, the quiet dialogue of the running water became my daily sunrise companion. 

This evening, I stood at the sink to wash the dinner dishes.  The water heated quickly, and I got to work.  My heart warms and slightly aches.   Mom, you did this every evening, and it’s how I picture you most when I think of you.  Our single-wide did have a dishwasher, and it made sense to use it as a drying rack.  Remember?  The window before me overlooked our large backyard, and Jeremy was catching the girls at the base of the slide.   

Pandora was playing my constant singer songwriter station; however, the chortles, happy screams and occasional cries of my silly children jumpstarted my ears and filled my whole body.  Our evening was simple, and we needed it. 

While most use the final notes Auld Lang Syne as the catalyst for yearly aspirations, my annual start typically begins with the advent of school days.  As an educator, this is habit.  Sailors curse, Texans say “pen” for “pin” and teachers become afresh and anew with hot August days and 10 cent folder sales.  Our 2013-2014 was hard.  Our family unit basked in big losses and daily discomfort.  Our positive temperaments (barely) persevered, and we made it okay.  We have our health, the kids are happy and we still find ourselves busting out an occasional dance.  

Tonight, Jeremy grilled some chicken.   The evening prior, I took the time to make some homemade salsa.  Not one to typically enjoy the process of making food, as of late, I exposed another version of myself.  I made Mom’s banana bread last week, and now I made some salsa with a healthy dose of cilantro.  Who am I?  The girls took their place on the window bench, and Jeremy and I salivated at our creations.  

Our tongues awesomely burned with the moderate dose of jalapeños, and our palette happily sang as the sour crème soothed the heat.  The freshly grated Irish cheese took her place atop the tender chicken, and the homespun pico-de-gallo perfectly adorned the meal.  We filled our bellies.  With each bite, my yearly battery refueled.  The meal was perfectly interrupted by the demands of an evening jaunt in the backyard.  My kind Jeremy took them outside, and I gladly stayed inside with my thoughts and cleaning hands. 

On this evening, I let the water run.  Her sundown song brought the same ease and familiarity as her morning musings of long-ago.  I am still working on the Grateful that is still to be found from our last year, and I know that’s okay.  I am looking forward to the new and wonderful that I know awaits us, and I already have what it takes to make it a good year.  They're right in front of me—still chortling, happily screaming and occasionally crying on this lovely evening.