ground
The phone rang at 4:07am. And when the electronic bell sound waved its way through the thick morning air into my ear canal and made contact with my little ear drum pound pounding in upon my dreams I could think but one thing: late. Oh and this, too: damn. I checked and re-checked my alarm, set sound yet never sounded or did indeed with no effect.
And so the guilty wake-up call and the running around and dressing in the dark. The scattered grabbing of anything I might need. Some of the things included are a cup of yogurt and a green apron, a pen that lights up blue at the end, and my car keys. I remember feverishly lacing my plastic boots while chiding myself for sleeping. Or maybe for not falling asleep in the first place. Or MAYBE it was for caring too much about this silly beverage service job that's got me wrapped around it's big green finger. (Ah when the siren calls we jump. And we also cary milk jugs and make whipped cream and answer dings on the drive through screen, we do. And with a smile, too.)
So boots a-laced, bags a-packed, eyes de-crusted, I marched myself clumsily down the hall and out the garage. But the frenzy melted there. One step out, just one step and I inhaled the last bit of night left in the air, glancing up into the cloudless black sky. For a fleeting heartbeat everything stopped and, as clearly as the stars were above my head I saw my father and my ten year old self climbing Mt. Hood in a similar springtime. I felt I was waiting for the sun to rise over silhouetted peaks. I remembered how my heart wanted to explode with the love of life, simply. I wanted my footsteps to crunch on not gravel but snow under crampons, under the weight of packs and muscle. I breathed some remnant of that grand moment of being on top.
And then the reality of the grind came gliding back down, and with it a familiar pining heat behind the eyelids. Damn emotional mornings. Seems in seconds I was at work. Coffee smells, steaming sounds, pressure down. The one who called me in asked if I had been late before. I answered that yes, I had. With a look of sincere solemn regret she said "I'm going to have to document it this time." For which my brain's silent response was "You people have got to be kidding me." This is not reality. Or less so, even, than the last dream of the morning that I experienced standing and crying outside my garage door.
And so the guilty wake-up call and the running around and dressing in the dark. The scattered grabbing of anything I might need. Some of the things included are a cup of yogurt and a green apron, a pen that lights up blue at the end, and my car keys. I remember feverishly lacing my plastic boots while chiding myself for sleeping. Or maybe for not falling asleep in the first place. Or MAYBE it was for caring too much about this silly beverage service job that's got me wrapped around it's big green finger. (Ah when the siren calls we jump. And we also cary milk jugs and make whipped cream and answer dings on the drive through screen, we do. And with a smile, too.)
So boots a-laced, bags a-packed, eyes de-crusted, I marched myself clumsily down the hall and out the garage. But the frenzy melted there. One step out, just one step and I inhaled the last bit of night left in the air, glancing up into the cloudless black sky. For a fleeting heartbeat everything stopped and, as clearly as the stars were above my head I saw my father and my ten year old self climbing Mt. Hood in a similar springtime. I felt I was waiting for the sun to rise over silhouetted peaks. I remembered how my heart wanted to explode with the love of life, simply. I wanted my footsteps to crunch on not gravel but snow under crampons, under the weight of packs and muscle. I breathed some remnant of that grand moment of being on top.
And then the reality of the grind came gliding back down, and with it a familiar pining heat behind the eyelids. Damn emotional mornings. Seems in seconds I was at work. Coffee smells, steaming sounds, pressure down. The one who called me in asked if I had been late before. I answered that yes, I had. With a look of sincere solemn regret she said "I'm going to have to document it this time." For which my brain's silent response was "You people have got to be kidding me." This is not reality. Or less so, even, than the last dream of the morning that I experienced standing and crying outside my garage door.