Storm's Coming

The sudden wind cools my hot skin as I finish the last few strides of three miles.  Moments before, the hot sun had beat down on me.  Now the coolness moves in.  The electricity in the air bears down and the pale green undersides of the leaves are flipping towards the sky.

*****************

Without warning I am transported back to the covered green deck on the house near the creek.  I am 4, maybe 5, sitting in the dark night with my mother.  The deck seems so high.  I dangle my favorite doll over the edge, feeling that thrill of near loss.  What lies below is only darkness and depth.  If I let go, she's gone forever.

"Remember what I told you about the leaves?" she asks me.
"Yes, but I can't see the leaves," I respond.
"But can you feel the storm?  Feel the spark in the wind?"  I can't see her eyes, but I can feel them watching for a response
I nod.  "Are the leaves flip flopping?" I ask.
"Yes," she says, "If you look closely at that tree you can see them."

I stare hard, barely able to make out the individual leaves in the night.  Then the first bolt of lightening illuminates the sky, and I can see the leaves flopped with their bellies facing the starless sky.

"Did I ever teach you how to count between lightening and thunder?" she asks me.
I shake my head.

Lightening flashes again.
"One Mississippi, Two Mississippi, Three..."
Thunder roars in the distance.

"Three miles," she says.
"Three miles?" I repeat.
"The storm is about three miles away.  Count the seconds between lightening and thunder and that's how far away the storm is."

Lightening stabs the blackness and I begin "One Mississippi, Two..."
Thunder pierces my ears and shakes my small frame.

"It's moving fast.  The storm will be here before you know it," she says as she hugs me closer.

The rain starts.  Big, heavy splashes on the wooden railing.

Lightening streaks through the night and before I can begin my count the thunder rumbles overhead.

"See," she says, "That means it's here.  Right over your head."

The rain is coming quicker now.  The drops are smaller, but more persistent.  The lightening and thunder intertwine and flow within one another until I'm certain that the large, crackling spears of light are causing the rumble through my teeth.

We sit in silence until the rain subsides and the flashes becomes softer.  Again the bolts of light and the rolling noise is separate as the storm moves west.

**************

I climb the hill to my car and stretch my legs against the bumper.

"Looks like the storm's comin'" a man grins at me as he rolls past on his bike.

"I think so," I respond and climb into my car as the first drops splash across my windshield.

Morning Peace

I buckle my seat belt and back slowly out of the driveway.  All the cars parked along the street make an oncoming vehicle difficult to notice.  I've been honked at before. 

I safely bounce into the street and head towards the main road.  I sigh and think about the children I just left behind.  They cry every day.  I know they stop the moment I'm out of sight, but it's hard to leave them teary eyed and begging for my return.

I know it will be a bad commute.  The rain is starting and I'm running a bit late.  I stop at a light and lean back on the headrest.

I'm so tired.  I close my eyes.  Freddie has not been sleeping well.  The molars are killing him.  I didn't even have time to shower this morning.  Hope no one notices.  And Ainsley?  She hates mornings.  Getting her up can be like wrestling...

The horn from the car behind me yanks me from my thoughts.  The light is green and now I'm holding up traffic.

The rain is coming down hard as I pull on to the main drag.  I am immediately met with brake lights.  I feel my blood start to boil.  I could have never imagined it would be this bad.  And then it begins, the crawl, the start/stop, the aggressiveness, the irritation.  And it will continue all the way into DC.

I hate begining my morning this way.  I'm angry and annoyed.  Irritated that I have to drop off crying children in order to sit through this misery.  I despise the other drivers.  They are all out to get me, all destined to be in my way.  Just drive!  I think with each passing moment.

The clock ticks closer and closer to eight, so I make the dreaded call.  I'll be late I record onto the voicemail.  Traffic is horrible I spit out.  I'll be in as soon as I can I say just before hanging up.

I continue on my slated path, no where else to go, no where else to turn, just trapped in this long snaking line of red brake lights glaring through the heavy rain.  Red lights...they're so harsh.  I wonder if it's actually the color that projects that feeling, or if the feeling of sitting behind so many red lights has altered the color's hue.  This is what you think about in traffic.

I finally see the flashing lights ahead.  An accident.  I'm sorry to say that my first thought is Well, at least there's an end in sight.

I inch slowly past the fender bender on my left shutting down that lane.  It makes me even more annoyed.  I'm able to speed up the approaching hill only to be met by another stop light.

But as I sit at the top of this peak, I see it.  My favorite part of the commute.  The Arlington skyline is visible and clear.  The buildings pierce through the gray sky at different heights and shapes.  And then as I proceed through the light the sky clears for just a moment and the sun peaks through the shredded cloud.  The light reflects off the mirrored windows of the building, and for a small second I smile and enjoy the beauty of the urban artwork. 

The skyline disappears quickly behind the rooftops and before I know it I am submerged back into the sea of red brake lights and swishing wipers.  I am again surrounded by the gray and misery of this commute, but for a moment there was peace.

I'm writing this post in response to a prompt at The Red Dress Club: This week we asked you to write a piece about something ugly - and finding the beauty in it.

Anything Else

I plunge my red, chapped hand back into the bucket of gray water.  I guess I should change it.  The baseboards would probably be cleaner if I used clean water, but I've already changed the water three times and I'm just tired.

I never clean like this.  To me, cleaning is picking up all the kids stray toys, running the vacuum and clearing the kitchen sink of dinner's dishes.  Oh and laundry.  Laundry takes up a lot of my free time.  Life is too short to clean like this all the time.  If I made it my life's mission to have sparkling white baseboards, a hair free bathroom that smells of bleach and a kitchen floor that doesn't stay with the knees in Freddie's pants then I'd never have time for anything else.

Anything else is what I love. 

Anything else is spending summer afternoons on the deck with Ainsley as she splashes in bowls of water.  Her curly locks wet and clinging to her cool skin.

Anything else is rocking Freddie to sleep each night.  Watching him as he nurses and drifts off so easily.  Humming softly as his eyes get heavier and heavier.  Breathing in the baby soap from his recent bath.

Anything else is cuddling with Clif and Ainsley on the couch for a good Disney movie.  Sharing a bowl of popcorn and watching Ainsley's eyes widen as Ariel and Flounder dodge a shark.

Anything else is taking Ainsley and Freddie on a walk through the neighborhood just as the rain is subsiding.  Ainsley bouncing ahead with her ladybug umbrella and Freddie mesmerized by the passing clouds.

Anything else is all four of us in bed together listening to a thunderstorm roll overhead.  The thrill and fear of it all too electric to sleep through.  But tomorrow is Saturday and we can all sleep in.

But today, Ainsley and Freddie are with Clif in Fairfax.  I'm spending the day in Richmond, making sure the house is ready.  Ready to go on the market, ready to show, ready for the open house, ready for another family, ready to move on.

I am alone and the absence of squeals and laughter and tears and crashes and toys and howls and conversation is noticible.  It's been a long time since this house heard so much silence.
I scrub the last foot of baseboard before dropping the rag in the cold, gritty water.  I look around and I'm pleased with the house.  I never cleaned like this for us, there's no time to clean like this when you're wrapped up in anything else.

This post is in response to a prompt over at the Red Dress Club: "Water gives life.  Water takes it away."