A Mess, A Song, A Rock Home Companion
Is it always that I must bring up Walmart? I’m sorry for my constant big business support, the drone of the shopping cart with the wobbly wheel, the eggs and bread always in the cart with my purse, in the spot for a child. I can’t take them to the store anymore. They’re too many. This is life at thirty, trying to make it work, going to Walmart, fiddling your key into the door of the wrong mini-van, paused like a soul with extra gravity in the parking lot, eyes stalking the couple, the beautiful one. A girl pushes a cart. Running, she pushes it with him riding and facing her, him as big as any athlete, handsome and smiling, and she runs to the car, into him, like she wishes she could always run.
There is romance, and then there is a rock house with six babies, my closest girl cousin and her husband come to visit. Ours and theirs equals six.
There’ll be a time for conversation, for the whole foods store, and for the clean floors. But until then, we relate through invisible telephone wire. We “remember when” in half phrases and nods. We make the same Mother groans. We most often say, “Now what were we saying?”
We do the best that we can, and we say thank you for our husbands when we’re not moody. Oh, what grace allows us to fall in love over again! What grace affords some unromance!
Some Unromantic Beautiful
Warning: at the beginning, one of us seems to yell, but as the Mama here, I think this is the sweetest video.