Not that I planned it that way. I'm a dipshit. Serendipity is more like it.
You see Dear Reader, I didn't intend to burn my bag of shit that night. I built that fire so we could make s'mores. A non-traditional dessert to cap our non-traditional Thanksgiving shrimp boil. It was only after we said so-long to Pops, and the Boy(s) said they wanted to go play Sorry!, that my Lovely Bride asked, "Are you going to do your thing?"
My thing.
At that point, I hadn't even thought about it, which I'm sure is hard to believe considering I've had the bag of shit I planned to burn in the back of my XTerra since September 16. I had thrown that bag into the van before we left for the trip. I had even added the Fuck Cancer t-shirt that a friend from work had made. I had forgot it in September.
I did plan to do my thing on our Thanksgiving trip, but not that night. I figured I'd do it Friday, or maybe even Saturday. Even though the forecast predicted rain. Strange isn't it. I think my tendency to postpone was more about the fear that the experience wouldn't live up to my expectation. Along with that fact that I have a hard time letting go, and the whole exercise was my own goofy version of closure to something that I had closed at that house back in September.
Yet that bag of shit was in the van. Ready. It was Thanksgiving. The moon was full.
How much more right can it get?
"I don't know," I replied, "don't you need help with the Boy(s)?"
"No. You should do it." Said My Lovely Bride.
Indeed.
My unforgettable fire occurred on Thanksgiving night, under a full moon. I burned the entire bag of shit, item by item, one at a time. In front of me, a few miles off the coast, I watched tankers and cargo ships enter (and leave) Galveston Bay. Behind me, up in Howe's House, I could see my Lovely Bride and the Boy(s), in their pajamas, playing a board game around the dining room table.
Later my Lovely Bride asked, "Was it everything you wanted?"
"Yes." I replied. "It was."
Until I BLOG again...Not a tear, no not I.
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