Dear Sunday Letter friends,
I’ve come to believe by some inconceivable cosmic magic the mere writing of these Sunday Letters makes time pass more quickly. And because we have such a limited amount of time to use, to waste, to sop up and wring out like a dishrag, I’d like to say thank you for sharing a few minutes of your time with me.
Really, it’s an honor I don’t take for granted.
If you’re on Facebook, you’ve possibly seen the video below. It’s worth a re-watch. Or ten.
If you’ve never seen it, pretty please watch it now… I’ll wait.
How special is that? In less than 3 minutes, this video with one familiar song and only a few words of dialog spoken in a language foreign to me, tells an entire story, plucking on the heartstrings and fully embracing the wonders of life and love.
That’s my take on it, anyway.
It begins with the joyfulness of being a new parent. Yes, joy mixed with so much love the young daddy’s heart might explode, so incredibly happy he dances along with the music, in part to entertain his new son and in part to distract himself. Because, just maybe, this whole parenthood thing is terrifying if he stops long enough to ponder it.
Then, a few breaths later, daddy, for the moment, is feeling his parenting oats—I’ve got this parenting thing figured out. The son, now a few years older and not so needy, laughs and thinks his dad is the funniest smartest superhero-est man around.
Bam. The son quickly morphs into a young teenager. He’s trapped inside that awkward, fragile, perfect age of thinking his dad is both embarrassing and cool. He tries hard not to laugh as Dad cranks up the music while driving him to the movie to meet up with friends. Or wherever. Tis the season of great eye-rolling.
Suddenly, son is a young man feeling his way through a life that, to him, is finally, finally beginning. Maybe he’s just out of college, perhaps the same age his dad was when he was born. When “their” song comes on, Dad breaks out the moves in the local coffee shop because it’s what he does, as automatic and unstoppable as a heartbeat, especially when Dad is in the company of Redbone. Who cares who sees? Maybe the son. Definitely not the dad. He’s lived long enough to not worry about what other people think. And really, he never did.
In a blink, family has dispersed to other places, and Christmas has become a quieter thing. Dad is now a grandpa. The son has become the new daddy. Love has come full circle, and everything is as it should be.
Come and get your love.
All the feels…
Even though we aren’t grandparents, John and I have become somewhat like the parents in the video above. As empty nesters with kids living in other states, our house has entered that not-so-hectic stage. I don’t go all out with the Christmas decorating, not like I once did. Instead, I surround myself with a few of my favorite Christmas things without killing myself in the process. If that makes sense.
This extends to our front porch, too.
This past week we wrapped the railings in icy white lights and outlined the downstairs windows in red. Frosty is back on the porch, and our fall pumpkins have been laid to rest in the compost. I would never want to be accused of skipping Christmas…
I can’t believe this year is nearly over.
Adventure at the DMV
Sooooo, the DMV. Is there anyplace quite so entertaining / crazy / frustrating? I will admit that going to the DMV in Fayetteville, Arkansas is much easier than Dallas, Texas, but still there’s an element of what-on-earth every time I’m required to visit.
It’s the perfect place for writing fodder.
Last week, after putting it off long enough, Momma and I set out to get Arkansas plates for her car, an Arkansas driver’s license for her (she has Texas now), and registration renewal for me.
It was our second trip in four days because, naturally, we didn’t have everything we needed on the first trip. Does anyone ever get what they need in one visit?
I speak for the masses when I say, NO. Not possible.
I could write an entire post about our DMV visit, but for now I’ll just say I had plenty of time to study the girl in front of me in the registration renewal line. She wore her abominable snowman slippers and clutched a humongous sack from Arby’s. Yes, she HAD THE MEATS, and they smelled up the whole place for the duration of time she was there. The smell even lingered after the girl left while Momma and I waited for her number to be called.
Conclusion: We accomplished two out of three things we set out to do at DMV and abandoned the third thing (for now). As I think back on it, the Arby’s girl was the best prepared with comfy shoes and supper for later.
No Snow Day
Yesterday’s forecast of anywhere from 2 to 100 inches of snow in reality equalled zilch. But we pretended to have snow, stayed home, made spaghetti, watched Army-Navy, basically did nothing.
I could never ever be a weather girl. I couldn’t deal with the constant disappointment of missing yet another forecast, showing up night after night to stand in front of a map announcing the low temperature for each town, one after another, each varying only a degree or two, like it matters, and forecasting snow that doesn’t come.
Yes, I can’t help it, I hold the weatherman personally responsible. And I’m always disappointed when we don’t get snow. When I was a kid, the promise of snow brought excitement overload. Momma got up extra early, turned on the radio to the Osceola station, and waited to hear the recitation of school cancellations.
Sometimes she came into our dark bedroom and announced Snow Day! before we were fully awake. Other times, from the warmth of my bed, I turned an ear toward the kitchen and listened to the crackle of the radio. Hearing Mississippi County School District right after Manila and before Osceola was a joyous thing. Not hearing it gave me a dull ache in my heart.
Things Momma Says
Re: DMV—when told she would need a copy of her marriage license(!) to get an Arkansas drivers license…
Thomas Tate has been dead 25 years. He doesn’t have anything to do with my car or my driving!
That’s it for today’s Sunday Letter. Wherever you are, stay warm and dry! If you have snow, lucky you.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.