¿A adónde usted va?
675 Millas a ir a Casa.
In the darkness of Black Friday morn, this shopper hunkers home to type, while folks wander shops too early to be open. For weeks I’ve sat before this screen, sunk deep in web links to leaked sales advertisements for this post-Thanksgiving shopping day. Once deemed the peak day to Christmas shop, this day has gone viral for months.
Social scientists claim men shop like hunters: get the prey and go home. As a mom I find shopping a safari, endless vistas to explore in order to seek that prize kill of an “Ah” trinket that is treble marked down, yet in great condition. Too often I’ve slipped up on a single kill with one of those “spend this much, get twenty percent off” coupons.
But I remain home today, already three hours into Black Friday. Essence of cooked sage, onions, oranges, cinnamon, and turkey fat scintillate and calm me. In four bedrooms four special souls stir. My beloved one came out to ask why I was up so early.
Mr. Buddy came down first, his blue cup of water to empty into the sink. My Maria pulls open her drapes. My eldest curls in blue velour blanket dreams in the study.
Miguel solo drove his Pontiac Vibe 675 miles to our home to hug his mom at 10: 40 pm Tuesday. The winding highway in Tennessee was not fun, neither was steering through thick traffic around four Georgia accidents.
“Mom, you know that verse that talks about hope,” he began as he slouched his stiff body into the sofa. “That we rejoice in trials... because suffering produces perseverance, perseverance. . . character, and character, hope?”
I nodded. “Are you talking about the trip down, or about these months after the layoff?”
“Yeah, I guess it’s both.” After a pause he replied, “It’s hard, Mom.”
My heart clutches recalling his words. Almost two months he’s been without pay, his savings almost dried up to pay the rent, his two loans, the utilities, and food. He’s my first baby boy, my son, who is shy four years from thirty-years old. Yet the arduous trip home for Thanksgiving was worth it for him and for us.
Now his mom tarries, to hug her son and admire the character that deems him a man of faith.
Social scientists claim men shop like hunters: get the prey and go home. As a mom I find shopping a safari, endless vistas to explore in order to seek that prize kill of an “Ah” trinket that is treble marked down, yet in great condition. Too often I’ve slipped up on a single kill with one of those “spend this much, get twenty percent off” coupons.
But I remain home today, already three hours into Black Friday. Essence of cooked sage, onions, oranges, cinnamon, and turkey fat scintillate and calm me. In four bedrooms four special souls stir. My beloved one came out to ask why I was up so early.
Mr. Buddy came down first, his blue cup of water to empty into the sink. My Maria pulls open her drapes. My eldest curls in blue velour blanket dreams in the study.
Miguel solo drove his Pontiac Vibe 675 miles to our home to hug his mom at 10: 40 pm Tuesday. The winding highway in Tennessee was not fun, neither was steering through thick traffic around four Georgia accidents.
“Mom, you know that verse that talks about hope,” he began as he slouched his stiff body into the sofa. “That we rejoice in trials... because suffering produces perseverance, perseverance. . . character, and character, hope?”
I nodded. “Are you talking about the trip down, or about these months after the layoff?”
“Yeah, I guess it’s both.” After a pause he replied, “It’s hard, Mom.”
My heart clutches recalling his words. Almost two months he’s been without pay, his savings almost dried up to pay the rent, his two loans, the utilities, and food. He’s my first baby boy, my son, who is shy four years from thirty-years old. Yet the arduous trip home for Thanksgiving was worth it for him and for us.
Now his mom tarries, to hug her son and admire the character that deems him a man of faith.
“And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.
Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings,
because we know that suffering produces perseverance,
perseverance, character, and character, hope.
Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings,
because we know that suffering produces perseverance,
perseverance, character, and character, hope.
Heard from daughter that Miguel has a new job. ¿Es muy bueno,no? PTL
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