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Again and Again and Again

20200130_063342Sunrise in the woods

Snow turns to rain turns to sleet and back to snow again. I drive over the mountain to ski with my son, the road unplowed, the truck in four-wheel-drive, the heat on high, windshield wipers slapping time. The both of us quiet. Coming down the other side, near the bottom, we pass an old farmhouse with rows of laundry hung to dry under the roof of a covered porch. It’s a beautiful sight, all that color against the flaking paint of the house and the monochrome of the sky.

In town we stop for gas. The snow is lighter now, the sky less oppressive. The pump whirs and whirs. It’s barely mid-morning, but I’ve been up for hours and I’m tired. The pump clicks off and I top it off to the next highest dollar, and if I’d gone over by mistake (I don’t, I barely ever do), I’d’ve taken it to the next highest quarter dollar. It’s just one of those things I do.

At the mountain I chase my boy. He skis fast, right on the edge of what feels controllable to me. The speed invigorates me, forces me to pay attention. The snow is still falling, but it’s lazy now. My chin is so cold. From the chairlift, we watch the ski academy kids run gates, leaning one way and then the other, like those big inflatable dolls you can’t tip over no matter how hard you push them, the ones that just return to center again and again and again.

8 thoughts on “Again and Again and Again”

  1. Hi Ben…..Hung laundry, next highest dollar, skiing on the edge, and a Joe Palooka Punching Bag (original name according to my friend). You covered a lot of bases here and I thoroughly enjoyed it!

  2. HI read this for the fifth time today. I check here for your writing way more often than I should – I miss the Ben Hewitt books (Home Grown, when you had that awesome giving-ness to share your world with us, was about the best).

    I noticed a metaphor at the end – maybe intended, maybe not. Those ski academy kids – they come back to center again and again. Is there something there that you leave for us to read in to this? For some reason I feel like if I was the metaphorical dad in this case I’d want my son to veer way off course and, hopefully, find a better way. How about you?

    1. Hi Mark, thanks for the note. Yeah, I think I’ve lost a bit of that giving-ness… or maybe it’s just that it no longer feels as much mine to give, if that makes any sense. The metaphor you’re referencing wasn’t conscious, but I think you’re spot on. And really, not just for our kids… for all of us. Hope you’re well, and thank you for continuing to read.

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