The first time we went, there were three of us. It was the night before Thanksgiving; the first time I cooked a turkey. There may have been something about going to a vegetarian restaurant on the night before we gorged on meat, or it could have been about my Sweet Girl being a vegetarian. It was a good meal. After, we went to Wal Mart for a sink drain plug.
The last time we went, to date, was tonight. There were three of us. I am not cooking a turkey tomorrow. As a matter of fact, there is a good chance I will never cook a turkey again. Aside from the conversation that filled the gaps between basting, I don’t think I’ll miss that part. It was, perhaps, the best meal I have had there. After, three people drove home in two cars.
Being alone in the car, I thought about the people on the street. 20 seems easier 20 years later, and I want to tell the kids to relax. Or I’d like to comment to my Sweet Lady about the kids and how they make everything so hard. Kind of like I used to, and I suppose she did too. We didn’t know each other for much of our 20s. Chances are very good that we will know each other for all of our 40s. They begin in a couple of weeks.
The soft summer air streamed through the car as I turned off the four lane towards home. A little more water vapor in the air and it would be the summer of my 18th year, at home in Tennessee. Nostalgia mixed with gratitude as I remember people I loved and think of the people I am about to see. The loves of my life.