I felt a bit remorseful
No, I didn't slip and bring a dance partner home.
I awoke thinking of yesterday's blogpost. Feeling a bit guilty doing a brain dump on Memorial Day weekend. Bringing up unpleasant thoughts, over what should be a happy, holiday weekend. Truth of the matter is I have little respect for the holidays and Sundays. Growing up, those were the busiest days for my family's business.
We owned a general store which was run primarily by my mother. She stayed at home landlocked with six kids while my father loaded up his pickup everyday, sniffing the air deciding which direction would be the most profitable for him to drive off in. His truck was loaded with winches, toolsets and eight track tape players. He'd roll into a gas station or auto body shop and set the eight track up on the hood. He'd load it with Charlie Pride or Johnny Cash or Jim Croce. Cranking it up to lure the men outside. Some days the carni air of it all worked it's magic. Other days nothing happened.
He'd thrown away his wristwatch decades before when he became self employed. He told my mother it held him back. Paying no attention to time, he'd drive and set up and sell, or not -till he felt it was time to turn around and come home. He never called. He couldn't remember the number anyway. If he'd wanted to he would have had to look at the card in his pocket. He used to reassure us on his way out the door, "Don't worry if anything happens to me- the State Police will call." (Great. hmm perhaps I should mention this to my life coach, may be another catalyst for my underlying anxiety). Words that proved fateful some ten years later when he shot himself.
My mother never forgave him for that.
On Memorial Day my father would have been home running the store. He'd be having an inner struggle because a holiday weekend should mean more business but it also meant one day off the road. If it rained, we'd all be screwed, as he so often said.
So we'd all be running around helping out. My brother would be popping his popcorn to sell from his cart. My father would be sweating and swearing and running around. Setting everything to look perfect. All the while hoping he'd sell enough, that it wouldn't rain and that the people who wanted to buy on credit would go somewhere else this time. Or pay off their tab.
Trying to make a life for the other seven people he was responsible for.
Charlie Pride and Johnny Cash Duet- I can't Help It (If I'm Still In Love With You) Your Cheatin Heart, Kawliga