When did I get so serious?

I love the faculty that I have developed over these years of my life to watch for patterns, account for difference, and interpret meaning. I do it a lot, and I do it pretty well. But Good God, when did I get so serious?

Please infer as little as possible as I will try to imply even less.

The sun was just setting, my feet dangling out the open door of the train car. A hand hewn clay cup of sweet fragrant chai warmed my hands and filled my lungs with its deep fragrance. I was heading north toward the Himalaya, I knew that much. I didn’t have much concern for anything else. I had been in the South for weeks and was now moving toward new territory. The red velvet clay earth glowed from being baked all day by the sun. The leaves on the trees were shining emerald casting cool shade below. The wheels on the tracks counted time so that I didn’t need to anymore. Their rhythmic cycle was more a heartbeat than a drumbeat. I was happy.

I awoke one night, late, to the sound of the waves brushing the beach outside. The cool breeze those waves carried ashore coaxed me out of bed and out to the sand. Rubbing sleep from tired eyes I saw lines of glowing foam in front of me. Now with eyes waking to focus I saw, that as each wave crashed, a liquid light show would spark through the water. With no thought, just a surge, my clothes were off and I dove headlong into the Pacific. Emerging from the surface, I immediately opened my eyes to see the electric luminescent drops fall from my hair. Swirling hands and feet produced trails of electric turquoise. There was no time for biochemistry, only time to play. I was happy.

My aunties had been in the church basement now for a couple days cooking in preparation for the Howell family Thanksgiving. With nine aunts and uncles, their spouses and kids, and any of our families’ new or old friends that wanted to come, these were big feasts. I was young, but I remember so vividly. There were older cousins outside elbow deep in car engines making sure they could get back home. They were never so busy that they couldn’t stop for a moment to teach a young boy how to throw a football or other secrets to becoming a man. The kitchen smelled of turkey pumpkin heaven and was always 10 degree warmer than the rest of the church. These sisters moved with purpose and grace. There was always a moment to plant a kiss and give a treat to a passing young hungry face. My uncles sat with the important task of making sure the football game was not too quiet with screams and shouts of approval and disgust. The game was never more important than a nearby nephew who needed to hear a joke or tell a story. I was happy.