Tuesday, July 27 8:02 am
From: Dear Friend
re: [something no longer relevant]
We positively NEED a new post. I cannot stomach looking at the “unthinkable” one more day. Please post something . . . anything.
Tuesday, July 27 8:09 am
To: Dear Friend
re:re: [something no longer relevant]
Mama’s working under pressure – but I’ll get something up later in the morning. xo
Now I’m nothing if not here to please – Luau, stop snickering – but I don’t really have anything ready for prime time. AND I have a whole lot on my plate AND very little time today to sort it all out. But I just couldn’t let Dear Friend suffer for yet another moment. So, I’m putting up the following, despite the fact that it’s not really finished.
See, if I had time to write the whole thing, I’d be able to add the part about the cow sculpture by the front door at my Dad’s house. I could have told you that my Dad’s small cape is bursting at its seams with sculptures and random objects of art – that they are nearly everywhere you turn. And I could have told you about how Brooke honed in on the cow immediately upon walking into the house and was insistent that Papa needed to move it into the living room. And that it took me until our second day there when she said it again to ask my Dad if perhaps the cow had been moved. I would have been able to tell you that he thought for a second and then said, ‘Yes, it used to be in the living room, why?” And that I was blown away yet again by my daughter’s incredible capacity to remember, well – everything.
And well, you see that if I had time to add all that it would be a much better post, right?
But hey, who am I to keep a dear friend waiting?
“Brooke, honey,” I said from the front seat, “we’re going to stop on the way to Papa’s house to get some dinner, OK? So FIRST dinner, THEN Papa’s house, OK, baby?”
“OK,” she answered quietly. She added, “And I would get sausages.”
I looked at Luau, confused. Sausages?
I turned around to see her. “Sausages, honey?” I asked.
“Where could we get sausages for dinner?” I asked Luau. “And would she actually EAT them?”
It made no sense. Brooke doesn’t have any exceedingly limited diet, but I wouldn’t exactly call her repertoire broad either. And last I checked, sausages weren’t making the list.
I tried to figure out where we could stop along the highway that would have sausages. Italian seemed like our best bet, but we were at a loss as to where we’d find it. My Dad lives five hours away from us and we were in the no man’s land somewhere in the middle of the trip.
“Honey, would you really EAT the sausages?” I asked.
“I would,” she said. “And I would eat Katie’s.”
Luau looked at me and smiled. He’d obviously unraveled the mystery. Thank God only one of us has to have the brain at a time.
“Hon, the last time we went to your Dad’s we left in the morning,” he said. “We stopped at McDonald’s on the highway for breakfast. Brooke ate everyone’s sausage patties, remember?”
I may be a little slower on the uptake than my husband, but it started to make sense. I vaguely – very vaguely – remembered that we’d given the McDonald’s sausages a shot because they looked exactly like their plain hamburger patties (that she loves). She’d eaten hers, then Luau’s, then Katie’s.
The last time we went to my Dad’s?
OVER A YEAR AGO. (This is where the cow story comes in.)
Every experience that we have is laced with points of reference – what we ate, what was placed where, what song was on the radio. For me, they’re buried deep under a pile of rubble. For Brooke, they are all right there – front and center, as though the moment had just passed. She forgets NOTHING. Every detail is stored in that little head of hers.
I wonder what she’ll do with it all someday. The possibilities, after all are endless.