Don't go

I walked my daughter down the wedding aisle this Friday past. We were both nervous or anxious prior to “the walk”.

I decided that my job was to try to set her at ease, as much as I could. I had thought about saying something serious during our walk, but I could tell she was on the edge of tears, so I opted not to say anything tear inducing. As we waited to begin our walk, I made light jokes, but what I wanted to say was “please don’t go jess, it’s too soon, and you’re just not ready.” Instead I made light pitter patter with my words, trying to weave a tapestry of relaxation around her on this special night.

What I really wanted was for someone to weave a tapestry for me. Weave a tapestry for me where I’m still innocent and believe that love is all it takes to make it in this world. Weave me a tapestry where everyone ends up happy in the end and we each receive that which we have earned.

What I really wanted to tell my daughter was “don’t go, it’s too soon, you’re just a baby and you’re not ready for this commitment.” Instead, I explained to her that my job was to walk her through the wedding chapel hall and then down the wedding aisle without her twisting an ankle or falling over. I explained that I’ve not lost a daughter yet on “the walk”, so it would be a big favor to me if she would not fall down or twist an ankle and make me look like I wasn’t doing my job. What I really wanted to say was, “Please don’t go you’re not ready.”

And so we walked down the aisle. No broken bones, no twisted ankles. All too soon it was time for me to give her hand to another man. “Who gives this woman?” the preacher intoned.

I recall when Jess was born. It was 10:06PM on a Thursday evening. Into my life came this squalling, cheese covered, baby daughter, and my life has never been quite the same. We grew up together, this daughter and I.

And now here I was, tasked with the job of handing over one of my daisies to another man. Would he take care of her the way I have tried to? Would he love her the way I do? In the end, it made no difference what I thought. My daughter wanted to marry this young man, so I said “I do.”

…but what I wanted to say was “don’t go”.

Breakfast-St. Louis Style

The Siren call of the White Gravy (yes, something that good must be capitalized!) at the Cracker Barrel was too loud and insistent for me to ignore today. I dined there for my breakfast when I found that I was too late for breakfast at my hotel. Unfortunately, once I backed out of the trough, I was required to drive several hours and then take a customer out for lunch. (Breakfast was sitting oh-so-heavy in the breadbasket.) I ate a salad, just so the customer wouldn't feel odd about eating by himself. I could of easily skipped the entire meal.

This evening, the Siren beckoned me back to the trough once again, and I found myself trotting across the parking lot to answer the luscious, sultry, beckoning call of the White Gravy.

Next week, I swear I can't stay in this hotel. My Southern Bloodline gets all fired up when I'm in St. Louis and I just crave White Gravy. I must move further away from Cracker Barrel, I must move further away from Cracker Barrel, I must move closer to Cracker Barrel, I must move closer to Cracker Barrel…..

Perhaps next week I can find double fried chicken with waffles, maple syrup and White Gravy. That sounds wonderful, does it not?

The Quest has begun.