10/06/14I miss Calvin and Hobbs; these comics today, covering the coffee table and dripping slowly to the floor seem, well, flavorless, vapid.
Oh I don’t know, didn’t they used to be so vivid, so Betty Boop and Daisy Mae, I was addicted, addled and adolescent.
These are things I miss; my Rosco Dog and Gina, mere glimmers now, shadows out of reach, silent, slow motion shapes.
Aunt Julia’s holiday fruitcake or Uncle Pete’s apple smoked sausage, the swirl of my Father’s cigarette smoke, weaving through his fingers, rising and fading away.
It’s the chill of things lost or soon to be; a welling up of tears; a shiver that rises from the inside, driven by memories so real they reach out and cry to be touched; all brought on by some sliver of music or combination of words on some faded holiday card.
Perhaps it’s just the coming of the season; possibly it’s that moment when the snowfall both muffles the sound and illuminates the night or maybe the thought of how Momma’s hand now trembles when she reaches for mine as, together, we cross the street.
It’s nearly Thanksgiving 2014, hug the ones you love and raise a toast to the coming year.