Right now I’m sitting in my truck at work and looking across the desert toward the low mountains I see to the south. I’d take a picture, but there’s a large tactical object blocking my view, so that’s out.
Anyway, my sister posted something on social media today that reminded me today was my mom’s birthday and I’d completely forgotten.
Granted, she’s been gone since the late 80’s, but still…
I guess what I’m getting at is that it’s surprising to think about the fact that I had a life beyond my present one. That’s weird, right? Of course I did.
I was born in San Diego, California. I spent most of my life there in the East county. 92071, to be more precise.
My dad had a work bench in the garage that was all beaten up, but still had a vise on the end of it. He was a pretty tough old bastard–I once saw him unload a washer or dryer or something from a truck by himself. On the day he had a heart attack, he drove himself to the hospital. I wish I had more of his toughness.
My mom loved country music, and dancing, and her kids and grandkids. They loved her too. One of my few regrets is that she didn’t get to meet my two monkeys, or see me get either of my degrees. I’m grateful that we’ll have eternity to recap things. Still, I wish I had more of her heart, and love for people.
I once lived less than a mile from Patrick Henry High school, and hung out with the most amazing group of people who changed my life utterly–I just saw one of them for my 50th, along with my sister and niece.
So life is different now, but still amazing. Every day, I take inventory of the blessings in my life before I leave for work.
The beautiful shield-maiden I sleep next to, and the talented young men down the hall who bear my blood, my heart, and my name.
So what if a few details slip through my old Swiss cheese brain.
If I checked out today, I can’t imagine being any more grateful for what God and the fine state of Arizona has brought into my life.
My reality may be different than it was in California, but it’s good. Better, even.