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| Yan Krukao |
I revisit my childhood as if we are lifelong friends, saying it’s because so many years ago was a simpler time. And it was, but the reality is I revisit the memories so often because I am fond of those times I held an excitement for anything.
And there were many things. Christmas morning. The entire month leading up to it. A backyard full of snow. Riding my bike through the neighborhood on a quiet summer day. Going out to eat on a rare occasion after church on Sunday. Homemade pizza on Saturday night. Inviting Mrs. D. from across the street to the flea market with us on a Saturday afternoon. Swimming at Pleasant Valley Lake. Digging holes in the empty flower bed along the patio. Drinking water from a cheap plastic canteen or the garden hose that had been baking in the sun all afternoon.
Now I pay bills and taxes. Somewhere, I convinced myself that getting drunk on many Friday nights was somehow exciting. I had forgotten what excitement was, and a hangover wasn’t it.
I can’t say waking up in the morning brings any form of excitement, but it’s still better than the alternative. Feeding the birds on my balcony and making sure the plants don’t die make me feel something, although I’m not sure it’s excitement. Contentment, maybe. Exhilaration, no. Enthusiasm, no. Elation, thrill, fervor, none of these is the right word, but whatever this feeling is, is a start.
Enjoy other posts by Ken Tomaro HERE.
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| Ken Tomaro |
