On Packing Light

Meet me on the hill – the one where
we used to start at the top and race to the bottom.

Remember how we’d pick the sunniest day
and wait until after lunch
when the grass had sunned enough to be warm.

We’d start at the base of the biggest tree,
lay on our sides,
stretch our lean bodies and scream as we rolled,
mowing over dandelions and Johnny Jump Ups.

We’d make crooked zigzags all the way down,
and for the length of the ride,
the world turned into a blur of puffy clouds and green grass.

We’d reach the bottom,
gasping and laughing.
We wouldn’t even brush off our knees
before we started back up again,
pumping skinny arms and legs to reach the top.

We didn’t have back packs,
or sunscreen,
or boyfriends,
or anything to slow us down.

We didn’t care if we had grass in our hair,
or stains on our shorts,
or dirt under our stubby fingernails.

We didn’t have bruised egos,
scars where hearts had healed,
fears about whether we’d be loved,
or the vaguest notion we’d ever be alone.

Our thoughts were consumed with the best flavor of snow cone,
whether Leif Garrett had a girlfriend,
if we might some day name a star,
or whether your mom would notice that you hadn’t finished the dusting,
or mine would notice that the dishwasher hadn’t been unloaded.

 

Meet Me There

I’ll meet you there tomorrow.

I’ll be in cut-offs.
I won’t have washed my hair and
I won’t be wearing makeup or sunscreen.

If you sneak up on me, I might be whistling.

 

 

I’m leaving my purse at home.
I won’t have a cell phone, a day planner or a watch.
I won’t have to be some where in 20 minutes.

If you sneak up on me, I might be sitting cross-legged.

I’ll ask you what your favorite color is.
You’ll ask me who my favorite singer is.

I’ll remember that you don’t like ice cream.
You’ll remember that I like to dip fries in vanilla malt.

If you ask me how my kids are,
I might pretend that I don’t have any…
just for an afternoon.

If you ask me how my love-life is,
I’ll tell you I love daisies and chickadees and malted milk balls.

If you want to talk of your failed marriage,
I’ll give you a hug and ask if you want to race down the hill.

If you tell me you’ve been feeling blue,
I’ll tell you that I named a star after you.

We know all about each others’ hurts and bruises.
We’ve spent hours comforting, sorting and fixing.

Tomorrow, let’s meet again.
Let’s leave all our stuff behind.

If you get there first, I’ll sneak up on you,
and surprise you with a daisy.

 

Words Got Her Home, my newest ebook, is a quick, inspiring read full of photos and words that help keep you moving in the right direction.

 

 

 

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8 comments

  1. Another gem… You continue to amaze me.

  2. I’ll meet you there. Can Jenny come too? She’s still so care free and innocent and fun and funny!

    Remember the song, “The Way Were Were”? Let’s be the way we are too.

    See you tomorrow at the top of the hill.

  3. Pat,

    Thanks. I like knowing that you keep tuning in.

  4. Mom,

    Oh, good! Jenny can come, but I’ll pretend like I’m not her mom – just for the afternoon.

    I’ll bring a daisy for you, and one for Jenny, too.

  5. Leif Garrett!!! LOL!!! I really thought I was the only one who remembered the teen magazines and his face plastered on them. I love your writing and all the emotion it invokes in me and the wisdom you share!

    Thank you Jesse!!!

    Warm hugs . . .

  6. Lynn,

    I know! I was channeling my inner 13 yr old on that post. It was fun! I’d forgotten who she was. ;)

    Hugs on their way back…

  7. You were 13. I was 10. You were my hero. You still are!

  8. Kate,

    That made me grin. :)

    I’m saving a daisy for you.

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