Running. A bucket in the rain.

Posted on by Live & Learn

running-path-mountains

6:01 am.

Crickets. Birds. And me.

Humidity 90%, but cut by a cool morning, 57º. Running weather.

I check my exercise log. Last running entry: August 3rd. I scan the page. More white space than entries. Ray is down 36 lbs in 7 weeks. I’m, well, you know, Up. And, staring at white spaces.

I’m out the door.

It’s Thursday. Evening.
(Another) last supper with the kids before they depart. It’s a short week, I’m off from work on Friday. Heaviness lifts. Weariness lingers. Gratitude drifts in. A peaceful, easy feeling sets in over dinner. Family. Our family dines together.

It’s Friday. Morning.
Departure Day.
Eric comes up to the attic. “Why are you a hermit, Dad?”
We exchange fist bumps. As he turns, I jump him from behind and we wrestle. He’s become unmanageable. I pull up before things break, on me.

It’s Friday. Early afternoon.
We’re in the car to JFK.
President Obama visits Weschester County on Friday afternoon – the same Friday kicking off the long Labor Day weekend. His security team has shut down I-95, 287 and all major thorough ways, snarling traffic. The result: A 2.5 hour drive to JFK. Purpose of the President’s trip: Fundraisers.

It’s Friday. Mid-afternoon.
I help Eric check his bags.
I hug him.
I stand, watching him walk down to the gate.
Two large back-packs are slung over his shoulders, he adjusts them to center the weight.
Florescent green shoes with long over-the-calf black socks. When did long black socks come back into fashion?
Turn, Son. Turn. Take one look back.
He doesn’t turn. He rounds the corner into security and disappears.
Off on his next adventure, a semester abroad.

It’s Friday Night.
I hear Zeke coming up the stairs. Toe nails on paws clicking on wood floors.
He glances in Rachel’s room. Dark.
He pauses in front of Eric’s room.
He looks at me. Unsatisfied.
He saunters down the hallway, looking back in the kids’ room as he heads back downstairs.
His foot steps echoing. Empty.

It’s Saturday morning. I’m Running.
Pink sky in the morning, Sailor’s take warning.
Dark clouds gathering, sky is waiting to open up.
Sun in its glory finds an opening in the clouds.
Light.

“[…] Can’t you feel it?
Can’t you feel it pulling?”
— Peregrine

The Sun slides behind the clouds.
I raise my head up, up, to catch the falling rain.

“Bucket in the rain,
rejoice!”
— Jim Harrison & Ted Kooser

I pull up on my run. Nothing left in the tanks. I round the corner to the house.

I look to our front porch. And there’s Zeke, sitting and waiting, his tail wagging wildly.

Dad’s Home!

Time Check: 38 minutes. 3.9 miles.

Nap Time.

Notes:

 

23 thoughts on “Running. A bucket in the rain.”

  1. I wish their adventures – which they should have and we delight in them having – didn’t also leave us with a feeling like part of ourselves just got diminished by their departures. Eric didn’t need to turn around – he knew his heart was there.

  2. Sounds like you did the best thing by going for a run this A.M. I agree with everything in Mimi’s comments (such wisdom!). Kate turned 30 this summer and I love the independent adult as much as I loved every bit of her childhood. There’s much to look forward to, Dave.

  4. Lovely, reflective post, David. Reminded me of the time when Mike left to go abroad for a year. Now when he comes home, I get four kids at once, two big and two small ones. Joy multiplied. Btw, the particulars for my run at sunrise today were: humidity 72%, 77º, 45 minutes and 2.5 miles. But then I stopped for some pics too. Have a great weekend!

    1. Thank you Helen. I can wait a bit for the “small ones.” 🙂 Your weather sounds wonderful – and it will get more wonderful as we up North roll into Oct/Nov. Hope you are enjoying your weekend.

  5. The phrase ‘catch and release’ comes to my mind…catch a poignant moment with them and then release. Catch a great conversation and then…release. As long as there is always a ‘catch’ I think I will be ok with the ‘release’. I think. 🙂

  7. I’ve told you many times that my favorite posts are you personal stories – chalk up another one, my friend. I feel the ache of your kids going their own ways (this totally grabbed my heart: Turn, Son. Turn. Take one look back.), even though I don’t have any kids of my own. I feel the sweetness of Zeke’s companionship. I feel the need to run – for health, weight control, mental and emotional release…thank you, David.

  8. I brought my 12 (well, nearly 13) year old grandson from New Zealand to Alberta for a two week visit with me in July, my rationale being that it would widen his horizons and the truth being, because I miss him so desperately over here and a fleeting two or three days as I tear around New Zealand trying to catch up with all my scattered family once a year just doesnt begin to cut it. Watching him walk through security in Vancouver on his journey back to New Zealand was gut-wrenching.. he turned before he stepped through, and I waited, craning my neck and peering over shoulders to see him turn again from the other side. He didn’t.
    My eldest daughter came to visit from Australia a month later. She left a mere 7 days ago. It was a fleeting twelve day visit and her first to Canada. Both were my first visitors from home in ten years. As Tracey prepared to go through security she consented to a stranger taking our picture together – a rarity for her, the photographer! As she wound her way along the line to go through security in Edmonton, she periodically smiled at me and as she finally stepped through, she turned and waved. I stood right up to the entrance as close as was legally possible, watching as she removed her jacket and shoes, put everything on the conveyor and all that jazz. I was sure, I absolutely knew that once through that gateway that sets off bells and buzzers at the slightest provocation, she would turn and wave one last time. Instead, she put her shoulders back, put her head high and strode forward without a glance. I admit to tears on both occasions. And to wondering, still, what it is all about.

    1. Makere, thanks for sharing your beautiful experiences. I can feel the ache. Your closing line (“and to wondering, still, what it is all about…”)

      … is it not possible—I often wonder—that things we have felt with great intensity have an existence independent of our minds; are in fact still in existence? And if so, will it not be possible, in time, that some device will be invented by which we can tap them?

      ~ Virginia Woolf, from “A Sketch of the Past,” in Moments of Being

      1. David thank you for that wonderful quote and vision from Virginia Woolf. Indeed, if that might be one day so, how much more care, how much more would we give, to each precious moment!

  9. So beautiful, pal. Like Vicky, I absolutely love your personal stories–so finely limned–and though I, too, am childless, I know how tough it can be to say goodbye to anyone you love, and how much it can fill one’s heart to come home to a wagging tail….

    1. Thank you Lori. I appreciate your kind words, especially given your profession and background. I had to look up “limned” – had never heard of it before. Beautiful… Thanks for continuing my education…

      limn |lim| verb [ with obj. ] literary
      depict or describe in painting or words.
      • suffuse or highlight (something) with a bright color or light: a crescent moon limned each shred with white gold.

  10. At Eric’s age, being a man means not turning around, not showing emotion. At your age, being a man means knowing it is OK to show emotion. And no matter what age Zeke is, he’ll always show emotion, excitement to see you. That’s why we love dogs so much! Beautiful post, David, it’s these that allow me (and your other loyal followers) to feel like we know you as if we do.

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