Three of them, standing on the overpass as i was heading home with a head full of “i’ve still gotta” items for my day.   Boys at that magic age where they’re old enough to have freedom for adventure, but young enough that it’s still cool to just play.

i scooted to the right lane to exit the highway, and watched them signalling the trucks – that universal kid gesture that says “Hey, Mister!  Honk your big loud air horn when you go under the bridge!”   Before i rounded the corner, i heard a trucker comply with their semaphore request.

Flashing back to my own days on the bridge, i could almost feel their giddiness!  Growing up, we had an interstate bridge on our street – maybe a half mile down the road from our house.  Before the days when large, chain-link fences are erected to keep people from dropping projectiles onto the cars below, we spent many hours on that bridge.  Watching for trucks.  Running from side to side to catch them as they approached. 

This is, by the way, the definition of the phrase “Small town, not much to do”. 

We’d get lost in it, though.  The kind of thing you do when you’re a bored kid.  The kind of thing that everyone did.  In the grand scheme of things?  Pretty damn meaningless.

But i miss that feeling. 

With the weight of a couple more dead people* dropping on me this week, along with a few more bits of annoyance and vexation for good measure, i was dragging ass on the way home.  People have noticed that i’ve acquired the habit of a very deep sigh.  Sometimes it comes with nearly every exhale.

When did i forget how to leave it behind?  When did i lose my ability to find mindless amusement in the most simple things?  When did i get so fucking old? 

i’m off on another business trip in the morning.  Some time being stoopid with the Dawg Boyz with friends.  May be just exactly what this ol’ bag of sighs needs… Shame i’m not driving.

adorable traveler found here

* Not literally.  Mom’s sister died on Tuesday at the age of 84.  My boss lost her father within about an hour.  While i’m not close to either of the deceased, their deaths triggered a multitude of things for me to take care of – namely, finding a way for Mom to get to that fucking funeral today, while clearing the massive piles of work-stink that i needed to cover for the boss so she could attend to planting her father.

35 thoughts on “Honk!

  1. You mean dancing the Mexican Two-Step in the middle of a deserted city street at 1am, stone cold sober but drunk on being alive and 16. I could go further back but then I was a kid on a farm and 20 miles from anywhere. THAT is boredom! No wonder I got lost in books.

  2. Oh, I remember the HONK! I did it once in a while, but my own kids did it ALL THE TIME while I drove down the freeways. Now we all have the new little ones doing it. It’s as American as baseball, I’m tellin’ ya.

    • they’re almost born knowing how to do it. passed from generation to generation, even to kids who have never been inside the cab of a truck, nor seen an air horn, we just know how it goes… next time i’m on my bike and pass a truck, i’m gonna have to do this. just because.

    • Lo-lo-lo-la-lo-laaaaa! And i remember a particularly harrowing hitchhiking adventure of my own…. dum-dum-de-dum-dum-dum for two 18 year old girls to hit the road, but we did…

    • and then there are sandwiches in the community room at the church, and if you’re lucky, those nice church ladies will make some jello fruit salad. i love that stuff. best part about funerals…

  3. Grew up in a number of courts in a number of small towns and the “blow your horn mister!” was HUGE with us as well!


    p.s. The reminders of our own mortality are harsh. Lost an uncle and a friend in the last two months. 😦

    • It makes me want to drive a truck! i’d probably tire of it, but blowing my horn for kids – while forcing surprised drivers into ditches – could have been my calling. and yes. staring at the drain as i circle it… part of the funk.

  4. Ahhh, blow your horns…. I remember that game. We used to have a couple of Gerber baby dolls that we would hold up in the back window and when a trucker honked at us we would squeak them back at the truck. After a full day of this when we were travelling somewhere that I can’t remember (I was very small), somehow those “squeaker thingies” in the dolls stopped functioning during the night while we slept. I think both my older sister and I may have been close to death that day. . .

    We sigh because there is so much bottled up inside of us, that exhalation is the “safety valve” on our internal pressure cooker. The tension builds up in us because sometime in the past we have learned that we are not supposed to exhibit strong emotions — negative or positive. So they stay within, simmering.

    • i think i’d have taken the squeakers out of those dolls, too! like your take on ‘sighs’. it really does matter. 24 hours out of town, mostly on my own, and i’m already better…

  5. I’m the master of mindless amusement in the simplest of things, i know no one believes me when i say this but i am, it’s still there Daisy you just gotta harness that shit.

    • i believe it. i used to be, too. until fairly recently – like, months ago – i was a master of getting lost in the silly. i believe this is temporary. and am counting on my Dawg Boyz to help me find it this week…

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