We awoke to the sound of wind and rain.
We had just four days ago sprung ahead one hour, plunging our normal morning routine into darkness and solitude, making us all a little quieter and bleary-eyed than normal as we set about the business of getting ready for the day. I got a cup of coffee and prayed for my soul to be still and know that thou art God. One daughter took her uneaten lunch from yesterday out of the fridge and repacked it while I made another daughter’s lunch: tortilla wraps with cream cheese and ham, carrot sticks and ranch dressing, lightly salted kettle chips and apple juice. Two daughters came out in short sleeves and hats, since today is Hats Off to College day at school. I told them the temperature would barely rise out of the 30’s today, even though it’s been in the 80’s all week. One daughter put a sweatshirt on and one said who cares. I threw on slippers and a coat and drove them in the dark, driving rain, the road ahead of me a blur of headlights turned into stars through prisms of raindrops, and puddles turned into six-foot arcs as cars inched their way through flooded streets. I came home and pulled into the garage, ignoring for now the garbage can in my driveway that the wind had overturned in the night, strewing neatly-tied white plastic bags and one cardboard pizza box all over the driveway.
I checked my bank account, email and made one online purchase while one daughter finished piling her hair high on top of her head. She wore her sister’s black boots that had been the cause of so many tears just one day earlier and let her mother’s black hoodie drape casually off one shoulder, revealing the purple t-shirt underneath. She made herself a cup of coffee with cream but no sugar and got in the car with her stuffed, purple backpack weighing her down and splitting open at a couple different seams.
-Did you eat, I said.
-Oh… no, I forgot.
-Can I get you a banana to go with that coffee?
-Sure.
I hurried back in and grabbed an unopened box of Oh’s along with the banana and we were off once more, avoiding freeways and being thankful for traffic reports of overturned 18-wheelers on I-30. She told me how she had watched an 18-wheeler smash a little black pick-up yesterday on the way home from school with Bethany and her dad. Bethany’s dad called 911. I wondered how close it had been to being them and thanked God for one more day and prayed once again for my soul to be still. She asked if we could listen to Michael Bolton’s Georgia and I thought about how I had first heard his version at her age and listened to it over and over and over in my room overlooking Homedale Road, while the Oregon rain flowed down my bedroom window. She asks for that song every day on the way to school. We turned it up loud and longed for that old sweet song even though neither of us has ever been to Georgia.
I said I love you and have a good day at 9:01 and made the half-hour, drenched trip home, avoiding right lanes where the flooding was worse and avoiding being in other drivers’ blind spots. I pulled in the garage to the sound of Waterdeep. Right now it would be a lie if I said I don’t mind, if I said I don’t mind. I ran out in my slippers and picked up the strewn white plastic bags and cardboard pizza box.
I came inside where the heat had just kicked on, said hello to Togo, put away the still-unopened box of Oh’s and made myself two pieces of cinnamon raisin toast.
I slathered butter all over them.
Fierce Peace 