Packed, dressed and laying in bed looking out the lone window from the second story room at the Days Inn in Grinnell, Iowa. Looking beyond the parking lot, beyond the trees just beginning to show some signs of spring on the rolling plains. My horizon is cars and trucks on the highway. I’m thinking about their cargo; false eyelashes, whopee cushions, air gap valves, candy and plastic trophies kids get for just showing up. Sad artifacts broken or consumed within minutes they are possessed.
Thinking about importance- about location- where we are- in the middle of the country. The idea of spinning cogs comes to mind. Coming full circle (for me at least).
Debbie and I are now sitting on the porch of Sams’ house waing for him to come home. I’ve never been in this position as a parent before- waiting for him to come back to where he lives. He’s always lived at our house. There’s a deja vu lurking in me even though I’ve never been here before.
We open the front door to air the place out-I get hints of fish sauce, sweat socks, cigarettes being put out in almost empty beer cans and Will Hamiltons’ ramen throw up. Even with the unusual array of odors I get a satisfied feeling, a feeling that Debbie and I have done a pretty good job of raising our first boy and yet, he’s done this all by himself.