The 7th

On July 7, 1988 I began my trek from Iowa to Dallas. My Fifth Street Friend sat in the passenger seat of my 1987 gold Dodge Colt. I’d just decided to get a/c put in. Fifth Street’s mom wished me well, as we set out that morning about 7ish. I think she was more glad I was leaving town. The lady liked me, yet she feared I put wild ideas in her daughter’s head. She needn’t have worried; her daughter could and did, do that on her own! My two cats at the time, calico Millee, along with her son, an orange, long haired fat boy, Morris, meowed from their crates. I tried to dry my own tears, after saying good-bye to my dad. I lived at home for the last two years. Even tho, living with the folks cramped your style, it was good to know you had a next meal and the clothes would get washed. Nonetheless, on that July 7th, we got on I-35 South for a 750 mile journey, that’s still not over.

November 7th, 2001. My first day at work, after the death of my dad on October 18. It was a comfortable feeling. To be back in a routine. It helped the grieving process. I missed my dad’s calls every Saturday. I wouldn’t leave my place, until I heard his voice say, “Hey, girl, what you doin?” Always had guilt I left him back in Iowa. That I should have taken care of him. Find a job back there. Whenever Dad saw me look at the job ads, he’d always said, “There ain’t nothing back here for you.” I would remind him that he was there. He’d shift his cigar and say, “I’ll always be here. You hafta leave your life.” On October 23, 2001, which was my parents’ 47th wedding anniversary, was also my dad’s funeral. I think he planned it that way. Together again---at last.

March 7, 2006. The day I a doctor informed my life would forever change by having open heart surgery that following Monday. Then five minutes, the same doctor came back and announced Monday was too backed up, so I was pushed to March 14. My mitral valve needed to be repaired or replaced. Last week, my cardiologist told me she liked the fact, I’ve gone on with my life as if nothing happened, yet I get reminded. Yep, every time my scar itches or the tip of it clashes with a top I have on or when I take my INR and I’m two tenths out of “the range”, and need to come back in 10 days, instead of a month.

April 7, 2008. The day I moved into my first house. Also the day before my Roman numeral “L” birthday. I woke up in my own house on my birthday! What a great present! How and why did I ever live in an apartment so long? Tish Tosh. The whole move-in, get settled, is still a work in progress. Cats adjusted better and quicker than I did.

June 7, 2008—in my hometown for my high school class’ 50th Birthday Party. Where the last chat of the night I most remember. A classmate who says, ‘You know I’m just a farmer who drinks beer.” Enlightened me and encouraged me to take on public speaking. He says nobody can say what I have to sa with the way I say it. He’s since been traveling to speak to other farmers about farmer stuff. I’m proud of him. His talk stays with me. “I expect to hear about you,” he said. Maybe so.

Today July 7, 2008. I got a taste of what good neighbors are. My coolant leaked from my car. I noticed the puddle as I pulled out of my driveway for my Target run. I was glad Target is literally 5 minutes away. Yet, I was petrified enough, it might as well been 500. Made it home safe and sound. I headed next door to my neighbors, J and his wife J. They always wave and smile. I figured they may know a good mechanic. J Wife’s brother-in-law is a mechanic, and lives down the street. The brother-in-law and the wife were on their way to dinner, yet he says he’ll look at my car. He looks, finds the leak. I tell him I will not drive it tomorrow—heck, I’ve blown up engines before. He says he’ll bring his tools tomorrow night. My best friend will pick me up for work in the morning. I like his neighborhood stuff.

On the 7th Day, He rested.

I am blessed.