It's going to be a great day even though it's over.
A half cup of hot tea is all that’s separating me from my usual night of chores and the official start of “getting ready for tomorrow.” The tea is really hot so I know I have time. Because I’m home, I’m being observed by several cats, all of which are definitely thinking of the snack that follows my guaranteed trip to the kitchen. Only Pippi is living in the moment. Or rather, sleeping in the moment, tightly coiled in the disarray of pillows, an abandoned throw and one flip flop. The other shoe is probably in the jaws of one of our dogs.
Jim walks in and tells me that the sky looks exactly like the sky did just before the movie started at the drive-in. “Remember,” he says. “Remember?” Jim is my partner of many years and he’s a master observer. I hear the carousel melody and the crunchy gravel noise made by a hundred little feet waiting in line. He loved the Drive-In while I disliked everything about it but the carousel, the carousel noises and the light around that magnificent ride.
When I muse on the carousel I see a movement blur, golden hued, with the wooden animals and carriages distinct and indistinct. I had favorites—not the rabbit or the cat or the pointless bench. I loved the zebra, a little different than the horse but not too much so: a timid difference. I felt outside of everything at the time but wasn't ready to reveal much. I was an ordinary little girl with stripes.
The carousel has stopped and I'm a short walk from falling asleep in the car.