Driving Jessica's Taxi: waiting for the bus

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

waiting for the bus

I was trying to get a good photo of Jessica but she generally does not make that easy. So much of our life together is waiting. I either learn to just love her and love the process or I am sad. I choose to enjoy the wait. In the end that is life...it is the process. Does that make any sense or is it too Zen?

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pot holes and pits

There are pot holes and there are pits. To this point I had never really fallen into a pit. I had no idea how to handle what was happening, no idea at all. When you run over a pot hole, it shakes you up a little. Some times the pot hole is so large, it can even cause some car damage. That would require a day or so in the shop. But a pit is different. You fall into a dark hole, and when you get up to inspect for damage, you often fall off the ledge even further down. If fact one of the scariest parts about falling into a pit is being in the dark, and never knowing when and if you have really hit the bottom. When Jessica was 18 months old she had 5 immunization shots in one day. I remember asking the nurse if it was a problem that Jessica was sick, and taking antibiotics for an ear infection. I should have used my best instincts and said "no" not today. But they were the medical professionals. I was just a first time mom. What could go wrong? But with in 4 days things went terribly wrong. It has be wrong for 19 years now. Jessica lost her voice. I thought we would just spend some time in the shop, get the car repaired and be back on our way. Instead of getting on the road, I have had the challenge of learning to live my life inside this hole...and I know now I may never be allowed to recover from that fall.

There is one kind of laugh that I always did recommend; it looks out of the eye first with a merry twinkle, then it creeps down on its hands and knees and plays around the mouth like a pretty moth around the blaze of a candle, then it steals over into the dimples of the cheeks and rides around in those whirlpools for a while, then it lights up the whole face like the mellow bloom on a damask rose, then it swims up on the air, with a peal as clear and as happy as a dinner-bell, then it goes back again on gold tiptoes like an angel out for an airing, and it lies down on its little bed of violets in the heart where it came from. - - - Josh Billings