Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Sundays of a Month....

I am - and shall likely forever be - resistant to change.  I know that I should not be.  Yet I am.  At my core, I am a simple-minded little fellow I suppose.  More than that - and irrespective of the relative brevity of our relationship - I am my father's son.  One more generation of Kenny men raging against the dying of the light.  We are nothing if not predictable. 

This past Sunday afternoon I spent a considerable amount of time doing something that I truly love:  hanging out in my backyard with Rosie.  I slow-grilled pork ribs for dinner, which process took roughly ninety minutes to complete.  While I did my thing, Rosie did her thing, which is find a spot either in the grass or on the patio downwind of the grill and spend the afternoon awash in dreams of pigs slathered in BBQ sauce limping right past her.  Perhaps it is true that after time pets resemble their owners.  Lucky dog - she looks nothing like me.  However, she too is a simple-minded creature.  

As we were doing our "grilling thing" we spent more than a bit of time just absorbing the sights and sounds of the world as we see it from our backyard.  While I shall concede that better views exist than that which Rosie and I can see over our fence, Sunday was a day that carried with it the perfect combination of breeze and sunshine.  I would not have traded where we were for any place on the planet.  Bar none.  

It is a view and a vantage point that neither my faithful four-legged companion nor I shall enjoy much longer.  The Missus and I - after almost thirteen years - are on the move.  By mid-May we shall have packed up all of our stuff and headed cross-town.  A determination was made that it would ease her mind considerably - and his as well - if she and Joe were living under the same roof.  Candidly, given all of the effort Margaret expends keeping an eye on her father while simultaneously keeping an eye on the idiot to whom she is married, the fact that she is upright and functional at day's end is no small testament to her resilience.   One who is married to me is forced to struggle on a daily basis with an over-sized cross to bear.  This move shall - to a significant degree - make her day-to-day easier.  'Nuff said. 

As we prepare to do something for all of the right reasons on the purely selfish plane I occupy I continue to struggle with the impending separation from "our" home.   Which is why I spent so much time Sunday afternoon soaking up the sun and drinking in the smells in the backyard.  It has always been my favorite part of the house.  It is the part of the house that has hosted a disproportionately significant amount of the joyous noise that we have experienced here, whether in the form of graduation parties, of which there have been five; homecoming celebrations, of which there have been at least two or three; or surprise birthday parties,  the most recent one of which was Margaret's 50th birthday this past October.    

Who shall come to this place after we leave it I know not.  Whether our home's new residents shall include among their number one who is constrained to sit on its back steps and survey the world around him - both that which he can see and that on the far side of the fence - I would not prepare to know either.  I hope that whoever comes to this place after we leave it lives as much of their life here as we have....

....and enjoys their time here as much as we have.  I reckon even that which we own we do not.  Rather we are simply caretakers of it - imbued with the responsibility of getting it to whomever follows behind us safely and soundly.  From us to them for them to enjoy and then to pass on to the one who rides behind them.  

Rosie and I made sure to clean up after ourselves on Sunday afternoon.  We always do.  After all, we are merely caretakers of this space we love.  For now anyway....


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