The Pondering Absurdist

I returned to my home town to visit my parents for the Christmas Holiday. Snow was in the forecast, but when my flight landed at the airport the weather was only clear and cold. After the slow shuffle off the plane, like cattle being herded through a chute, I made the long walk to the baggage claim amongst the throng of my fellow passengers. We had the usual wait, standing around with our hands in our pockets, looking into each others’ eyes and wondering why each of us had come to this, “my,” small town on Christmas Eve. I looked around the crowd of people, trying to see if there was anyone I recognized, but to no avail. The conveyor belt started and ran for a few minutes, then a bag or two slowly appeared through the opening. Before long there was a belt full of luggage, and a horde of impatient people crowded around it pawing through the bags and suitcases looking to claim their own. I saw my lone Samsonite suitcase appear on the conveyor through the opening and waited patiently as it made its way around toward where I was standing. A convenient gap in the crowd appeared, so I walked up and retrieved my suitcase, then headed for the taxi stand. I hailed a cab, hefted my suitcase and carry-on into the trunk, then slipped into the back seat. After a brief consultation with the driver we were soon heading out of the airport and toward my childhood home.

As the taxi pulled onto the street where my parents still lived, snow began to lightly fall. By the time we reached my address, the snow was coming down harder and was starting to “stick” on the ground. I paid the driver, adding in a little more tip than usual because it was Christmas, then walked up the short path to the front door of the house that I had grown up in. Both of my brothers had flown in a day earlier and were sitting in the living room chatting with my parents when I arrived. As I opened the door and started to walk inside, I saw the smile on my mom’s face as she saw me come in. She immediately stood up and came over to give me a big hug. I said hi to my brothers as they stood up to greet me, gave them both a quick hug, then walked over to my dad and gave him a big hug as well. We were a loving family and had no qualms about showing our affection.

It was late afternoon by the time I arrived and my mom had already been preparing food for a couple of hours. For a while we all sat in the living room together, catching up on the little details of each others’ lives that might have been missed in phone calls, or that had happened since the last time we talked. After about 45 minutes or so, my mom herded us all toward the dining room for our Christmas Eve meal. For an hour and a half we drank wine, laughed, and gorged ourselves with turkey, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, garlic Brussels sprouts, and cinnamon applesauce, all lovingly prepared by Mom. After nobody thought they could eat another bite, we each topped it off with a slice of hot apple pie, à la mode. We all pushed away from the dinner table completely sated.

My mom was planning to make some of my dad’s favorite, Swedish pancakes, for breakfast, but she had run out of milk while preparing Christmas dinner for us all. Upon hearing this devastating news, as I also loved her Swedish pancakes, I immediately volunteered to go to the store and pick up a carton of milk. I asked to borrow my parents’ car, and said the the drive through town would do me good anyway, as I hadn’t been back home for a couple of years and wanted to see if anything had changed much. I took the keys handed to me by my father and headed out the door. It was still snowing lightly as I walked toward the car. I opened the door, sat in the driver’s seat and carefully made my way down the snow-covered street.

As I made my way through my home town of Peoria, Illinois, I took the indirect route. I drove past my old high school, which still looked the same, and by a couple of local parks where I used to hang out with my friends. As I wound my way through town, I eventually ended up on Abington Street Hill, where I planned to do my shopping. I continued along my way and parked in an open space in front of the Convenient Food Mart. I exited the car, locked the door, and headed through the light snowfall toward the door of the small store. Being Christmas Eve, this was the only food store open in the neighborhood. It had been owned by the same family of immigrants, who didn’t observe the Christmas Holiday, for a couple of generations. Everyone knew that if you needed something at the last minute on Christmas, this is where you needed to come. Though they knew they were the only option available, the family was nice and they kept their prices reasonable. I walked inside, saying hello and, out of habit, “Merry Christmas” to the cashier. She looked up at me with a friendly smile and nodded in acknowledgment.

As I walked down the frozen food aisle, I thought I recognized the only other shopper in the store. I walked up quietly behind her and touched her gently on the sleeve. I asked “Jill?… Jill Anderson?” She turned to look at me with a puzzled look on her face. She didn’t recognize me at first, with a few extra years and a beard on my face, but suddenly her eyes opened wide with recognition. She attempted to hug me, but spilled the contents of her purse on the floor in front of us. I bent down to help her retrieve her belongings and we both laughed out loud, tears coming to our eyes.

She finished her shopping and I walked with her to the cashier, after having retrieved my lone carton of milk. Soon her food was bagged and she paid the cashier the total. We were at a loss for words as we stood there, a little embarrassed, and shy after not seeing each other for a few years. I paid for my milk, then asked her if she would like to go have a drink or two, and catch up with each others’ lives. She agreed and we headed out.

We both got into our cars and headed to the few local bars that each of us knew about, to see if any of them were open. Unfortunately, it seemed that all the bars were closed. We decided to stop at an open liquor store that we had seen, and we bought a six-pack of beer. She invited me to sit in her car so we could drink the beer and talk. We each popped open a can and drank a toast to more innocent times, then a toast to the present day. Conversation lagged a bit, but neither of us seemed to know how to bridge the gap. She told me that she had married an architect, someone who could keep her warm, safe, and dry. She looked down at her hands as she said that she wished she could tell me that she was happy, but she didn’t like to lie. I told her that the years had been good to her, that she was still a beautiful woman, like the girl I had known in high school. As she looked back at me, I couldn’t tell if there was doubt or gratitude in her eyes. She said that she had seen some of my albums in the record store, and she guessed that I was doing well for myself. I replied that I loved performing for audiences, but traveling on the road from city to city was a little slice of hell.

We had finished all the beer, and appeared to be tired of talking; we were running out of things to say to each other. As I was getting out of her car to head back to mine, she leaned over and gave me a kiss. I closed her door and soon I was watching her drive away. For a moment I was right back in high school, feeling that little love pang. I got back into my parents’ car and started heading back home. As I made my way back to my childhood home, the snow turned into rain.

The first five paragraphs above are complete fiction, loosely based on a few facts. The rest of the paragraphs above the flourish are based on song lyrics, using my artistic license to fill in a few gaps here and there, and make the story flow a little better. If some of it seemed familiar to you as you were reading, then the song must have struck a chord with you at some point in your life.

This writing is based on the song “Same Old Lang Syne,” by arguably one of America’s greatest singer-songwriters to have lived in the modern era. Sadly, Dan Fogelberg was taken from us too early, at the age of 56, when he succumbed to the ravages of prostate cancer in 2007. Listening to this song through the years since has elicited a tear or two from my eyes more than once. Maybe I’m just a sap, or maybe it’s because I know the pain of failed relationships and lost love.

If you’d like to hear the song in its entirety while watching Dan sing it live, you can find it HERE on YouTube. If you prefer the album version, click this LINK.

Rest In Peace, Dan. You were loved by many.

PA