Musings Between Friends: Revelations

I have a confession. On the surface, it isn't pretty. Maybe down deep, it isn't pretty either. Anyway, it is the truth and when you keep the truth from the light, it grows into a little invisible gremlin that sits on your shoulder and whispers mean things in your ears.....so, here it is..... I WANT TO RUN AWAY. ALOT. The older I get, the worse it is. I first desired it while standing at the bus stop during college. There, one spring, as I patiently waited for my ride, an aroma tickled my nose that was a most familiar smell. What was it? I don't know exactly (honeysuckle, asphalt, a peach that was too ripe in my lunch bag), but it immediately reminded me of my grandfather, Pop. Without warning, tears sprung to my eyes and I wanted to RUN AWAY. To him. To Pop. To childhood. To the familiar place that I lost. To his garden, his yard, his truck, his arms....

The thing is, I don't want to run FROM things. I want to run TO things. I couldn't imagine my life without my children, my mother, my siblings, my friends - but I miss the cicadas. Yep, you heard me. The cicadas. The sultry, humid, heat of tonight's summer night has me yearning for past times, because the cicadas are LOUD, singing and lulling me into a slumber of memory that is seductive and powerful. I don't want to stay in the air-conditioned, pre-conditioned, dutiful cycle of the NOW. I want the days of my childhood that ring loud with similar hot summer evenings when the cicadas were purring. Back then, I was free and my bicycle took me everywhere - I doodled in the dirt and my mother was singing (light, airy, free!). Bugs bit me and I went to bed scratching but woke up happy and looking for more outside adventures. The cicadas sang in my grandmother's back yard, while the grown-ups talked and I circled them searching for lightning bugs to catch in my jar. The cicadas sang and chirped while I played "kick the can" with my neighbor friends under the street lights. When I was a young mother, they sang in my back yard in the heat of the summer while I rocked my first, sleepless baby to sleep. The cicadas call me back, over and over again to a simpler, more free time, when someone else was in charge. Rivers glisten, "Pops" hum, dryers run and I sleep - free from worry or responsibility - sweaty from play and not caring - giggly and giddy and happy and joyful. Childhood. I want to run there. Where the cicadas sing and my daddy is there and I am small and smart and free and I can hear and smell summer without all the traffic in my head sounding out and drowning out the beauty of life.

The cicadas are in my back yard, now. I hardly hear them. I wonder if my children hear them. Sometimes, I walk out there and listen and imagine I am wandering backwards in time to when I heard them in the background of play and laughter and exploration and I had not ONE CARE in the world. That is where I want to run away to. I miss it. I long for it.

My children didn't have the same childhood as I did. They had a more "present day" childhood, with fancy vacations and battery operated cars. They dyed Easter Eggs in the Caribbean and watched fancy, professional fireworks on the 4th of July. They had sparklers and ripe mangoes and corn-row hair in Jamaica. They had big city trips in fancy hotels - bottled water and mints on their pillows. Is there a sound or a smell from those places that will visit them 30 years from now that will make them want to RUN TO ME?

I took my teenage daughters on a shopping spree this week. During the long car ride, we listened to a book on tape, ate LOTS of fast food, shared some secrets and got in shouting matches. I realized I haven't done such a good job in making them appreciative, yet, at the same time, I realized they are good girls. We sang, spoke in foreign accents, told secrets, critiqued our clothes, stopped to pee a thousand times, indulged in chocolate delights (too many), had outbursts, laughed uncontrollably (at nothing) and came back exhausted. But, there were no cicadas. Yet, the cicadas are singing in my mind and calling me back. I want to run away.

I can only hope that some day, my daughters will want to run back to each other. To me. To a happy childhood. To the cicadas. To whatever made them easy and laughing and free. I will be there waiting - as will my father and Jim and other lost loved ones who have enriched our lives.

In the mean time, I will keep trying to live in the present - restored by the past and blessed by the present and .....reveling in my new shoes!! Did I mention that we bought SHOES??? Listen, I don't hear cicadas - but, my shoes are humming.... they are AWESOME (singing their own sweet song of promise)!!!