Frozen Treats and Curious Sweets

So a week or so ago I was sitting on the back porch with my family when we heard a curious jingle.

"That sounds an awful lot like an ice cream truck," my sister observed and we all nodded, mumbling our own variations of "yes, yes that is what it sounds like."

To our surprise, as ice cream trucks have become as extinct as the dinosaurs and a good Christian conscience, the tune became louder as what seemed to be maybe could have been hmmmm not sure an ice cream truck? rolled slowly along the street behind our home. Only, this was no truck. It was a white, windowless van with a flashing yellow light at its back and small "Ice Cream" signs slapped on like cheap magnets.

We shared glances and the van rolled out of sight and out of mind.

Time passes and I forget about these happenings until this morning. This very morning. Sitting at the home I am looking after for the next couple of weeks, lovingly labeled by a friend as "My Special Place," I hear the curious jingle once more.

Memories rush back to me like a stampede of half-retarded wildebeest and I rush to a window.

Sure enough, slowly rolling along the street is the very same van that haunted me before. Only this time there are children that run up to it in a more than giddy manner, excited for ice cream and other frozen treats.

Oh my, I think to myself. Oh dear me. And as I watch the kids talk to the man in the van after rushing into a house for money, the elderly gentlemen who lives next door hobbles down his driveway and towards the van's window. He says something to the driver, who immediatly drives off, leaving a small group of children clutching bills and coins with frowns on their faces.

Watch out, Rochester. I am soooo not making this up.

Single Tear

I know there is more than a great risk of me sounding like a complete tool here but so be it. It must needs be said.

Gilmore Girls was an amazing show. Anyone who says otherwise is a close minded fool. It was smart, fast, charming, and reeeeally really well done. And though I only hopped on board for the last two and a half seasons (credit given to my two younger sisters) I am all kinds of bummed it just ended last night.

The series finale, however, was perfect. It was dignified, moving, and magnificently written. Everyone involved has every right to be proud. It couldn't have been better.

And, seriously, who knew Sally Struthers was so freakin' funny?

The Most Terrifying Second And A Half Of My Entire Life

My sister totalled her car yesterday. A Ford Taurus was slowing down to take a left turn while she was on her way home from track practice and she thought it would be fun to give it's rear bumper a bit of a smooch. Only she didn't think it would be fun, and instead of a smooch it was more like a headbutt.

The front foot and a half of the car has been squished to a few inches and the radiator (along with several other pieces found under the hood that apparently rack up to over $1500) was smashed to pieces.

She's fine, wasn't hurt or anything. She is, however, the kind of girl who was so distraught over the fact she failed her drivers test on the first go she wouldn't talk about it for days, nevermind get back in a car, so one can imagine she isn't in the best of shape after completely biffing the family's new vehicle.

I just heard about it a couple hours ago and the phone call from my mother held within it the most terrifying second and a half of my entire life.

I could tell from her voice that something was wrong and she hurried through the "how are you"s to get to whatever it is she called about.

"Your sister was in an accident," she says.

And my heart leaps a mile into the air.

The most terrifying second and a half of my entire life.

"She's fine," she adds. "The Camry's totalled."

My heart takes longer to fall back into place once it has jumped so far upwards, but it finds its way.

To get right down to it, the news could have very easily been "Your sister was in an accident... she's in the hospital" or worse "She's dead" and just like that, after one phone call, I'd be down one sister.

What would I have done? Honestly. What would I have felt? How would I have acted? What would have happened to me?

I've never gotten news like that. Not so sudden, not so unexpected, and not in regards to someone so close.

Lately I've spent time outside sitting in the grass staring out a window up at the sky down to the street, trying to look at the world through the eyes of someone who believes in God. I can't do it. These eyes are not mine.

But I can't help but wonder... how would it be different?

Squee Squaa

I seem to be suffering from mild constipation.

My bowel movements have become less frequent and my poo is small and hard.

Pray for me.

I Am Sprinkles

My world had gone cold. An emptiness crept inside of me, pawed it's way into my heart and curled up to snooze, much like I might have done to a throw pillow or ball of blankets.

He left me. Suddenly, one day, he was gone, much like his brother had disappeared before him, though the brother's absense was nothing compared to the longing... the betrayal I felt when he... when he left.

I wanted to be confused. I wished to spend hours lying awake wondering why. Instead, I knew. Hours were spent dwelling on the knowlege that he had left because of me. The regret was exhausting, the hurt was unbearable and while I crawled my way through every minute of every hour of every day, I was hopeless... I had no reason to go on, but for him. And he had left me.

And now months have past. The pain has not diminished, no. It has not become anymore bearable. It has simply... grown familiar. A haunting part of me.

I miss him. Not his smell, not his touch, but his voice. Oh, the songs he would sing. The songs he would sing. And I knew, I knew by the twinkle in his eye while he sang these songs, they were for me. These songs were mine. His voice was mine. He was mine. And I was his.

I... I was his.

And now he is gone.

The small divot in the couch cushion, where his firm buttocks would rest when he was weary, ceased to be not a week after he had gone, and any trace of his warmth soon after. But I return to it. Day after day. Some days I can close my eyes while I lie on that spot and remember. Oh, to remember. My whiskers tingle, swept up by memories, and I smile.

He may be gone, but at least I have these memories and tingly whiskers and the pain. The pain that assures me... only something that was truly good can hurt so bad once it is gone. And what we had... what we had was truly good.

I'm gonna go shit in some sand.