"Do you live in a barn?"
First quote, often heard from my ex husband, when he'd come in from work to a house strewn with graham crackers, crayons, sleepy kids and Legos - And my answer often was, "Honestly honey, I have no idea."
Second quote spouted by my folks, when as a child I'd often rush out leaving the front door open wide. Today my answer would be, "Yes, I feel as though I do kinda live in a barn", because not only can I be found located inside one more and more with my kids and their horses, it is also oddly enough, the place I find myself most at home.
I drove through bothersome Southern California pre Christmas traffic to the dog beach this morning with my young lab and sometime around noon, I finished my first must do errand. Later I squeezed in a tuna sandwich, made and consumed hurriedly over my kitchen sink, where I looked out the window at my wobbling fence with literally no thoughts in my head. I picked up my son from middle school and ushered him through ancient Egypt, Pharaoh Menes with his red and white crown, as we sat in the warm sun on the metal bleachers watching while his sister ran her first day of high school track. Somewhere around the creation of Memphis, capital of long ago Egypt, my father called from that barn I feel I live in, waiting for me...
"And what did you do all day?", came rushing back into my head. Where had the day gone and why had my plans with him fallen out of my mind and what exactly, if anything, was in my mind anymore?
A thousand apologies, 70 miles per hour and one sorry a*#, forgetful woman, an hour late.
But in the barn things slow down. It's not me who sets the pace.
The sun slants differently and dust motes dance in it's diagonal.
My girl is my girl and my boy is my boy, Ally is Ally and then there's Johnny...
Johnny Cash saunters unabashedly behind and tethered to my shy daughter, his red halter and white star blaze adorn his head, like the Pharaoh Menes, king of united, ancient Egypt; and Johnny Cash, my sweet king, king of the stable, to me anyhow.
Johnny, gentle and warm aligns himself with my ailing father, puts his soft, white muzzle against my father's forehead... and then my lateness, forgetfulness, what have I done with my day-ness is forgotten, forgiven, for nothing.
And yes, I live in a barn, because in the barn I am just myself and I don't know where my lipstick is, my old calluses come in handy, my dull eyes tend to moisten up more and more, my age is indeterminate, my shoes are flat, my children are purposeful and I am for God knows what reason, always, always present.
Into my life came Johnny Cash with his bum leg hidden beneath a liquid chocolate exterior and sometimes I feel like Johnny with my own bum leg that I pretend doesn't exist and I hide so well.
Johnny is a lover, not a fighter, though he's fought a bit lately...
In all my life I've never known any living being more perceptive and kind with his kisses.
He makes everyone I love feel loved and for that and for all those soft muzzle kisses, I am eternally grateful.
And yes, I really do "live" in a barn...
