Noise

“Pop Pop Pop Pop POPPOP Pop pop POP POP POP pop” – I wake to the sound of gunfire. 6:30am. On a holiday. Shoot me in the head. Nevermind. Don’t. Just stop shooting those doves in the field on the other side of my Daddy’s woods.

“Swish Swish Swish” – 14 month old little knees chasing a “baw” around the room.

“One time when she was just a little girl, she came over and said, ‘Granny, Here’s my dog. You have to watch him while I go play in the play room. See? I put him right here.’ and she points at the floor, at her imaginary dog.” “She used to stand up in the back pew of the church and sing at the top of her lungs. The whole church could hear her. And the words were almost always wrong.” – The chatter of my grandmothers, swapping stories of my childhood, while I dutifully dried the dishes. Silence from my mother, who would not come to my defense.

“Mama, can Aunt Mandy come stay at our house? She can sleep at our house and play with me.” “Where’s she gonna sleep, Davis?” “She can sleep in my bed.” – He doesn’t see me in the doorway listening while his mama ties up his little boy shoes. This three year old has the ability to break my heart in five seconds flat.

“PSSSHHHHHHHH Splash Splash Splash” – After he hugs me goodbye and tells me that he loves me, I have to find an excuse to walk away. I escape to the kitchen and pretend to wash my hands, blinking back the tears and counting the days until I can move back home and be a part of that little boy world…

These are the sounds of my Thanksgiving.

What did your Thanksgiving sound like? Did you stop to listen?

“If You Don’t Eat It…”

I don’t like the traditional Thanksgiving meal.

Now, before you go and shoot me like a pilgrim chasing a wild turkey, let me tell you a story.

I was a little girl. We were at my mom’s parents’ house in Jacksonville, FL. Warm air. Green trees. Moss hanging on the oaks in their backyard. We usually passed the time playing Uno, watching football, and listening to the women chatter and stir in the kitchen. The house was always filled with energy, people, noise, and good cooking.

At some point we needed to make the annual Thanksgiving emergency grocery run. I guess we just HAD to have cranberry sauce or something unnecessary like that. I hopped in the car with my mom and her baby brother, and we were off. Pulling into the parking lot, I figured it’d be as good a time as any to confess that I don’t like all the food we have to eat every year.

Then, my mom, motivated by her most motherly of instincts, tells me that it’s absolutely unamerican to not eat the traditional Thanksgiving meal. She then reinforces this national value with claims that the police arrest any non-eaters. They patrol all the houses and lock up those who don’t eat this traditional meal. Immediately my mind began racing with vivid images of the cops coming around every year… Of their car parking in front of my grandma’s place. Of them coming in the house to find me obstinately refusing this sacred meal. This scared the living daylights out of me.

Obviously, she was kidding.

Obviously, I ate my belly-full with my on the front door.

Obviously, the cops never came.

Obviously, I’m hoping for spaghetti this year, but I have a feeling I’ll be eating turkey.

Obviously.

one-a-days

Who are we kidding? I’m not gonna be on the computer as much in the next few days, are you? Didn’t think so. I’m posting one-a-days ’til next week. Stories. Memories. Lessons learned.

While I’m not on the net, I’ll be playing with my nephews and eating too much of my mama’s cooking. I might even work on my tan (um. not really. but a girl can dream, right?!)…

So, what will you be doing for Thanksgiving?