wednesday, pm.

7:00 and the sky’s already transitioning from a light orange haze into darkness when I pull in the driveway. The air is warm and thick, almost humid. I can’t believe its mid-October and still 95 degrees outside. Sweat seems to resonate on any exposed area of skin, and I just can’t seem to get used to it no matter how hard I try. Even though, I know it’s something that I need to get over.

I’m startled out of my daze when my door flies opens and there’s Hayden, ready to greet me with some witty comment. The one’s he’s famous for.

“Ali, I totally beat you. I got down here first.”

“Hayden, dude, I’m not going to go 65 on a dirt road just to beat you. That’s nuts.”

“…whatever. I still beat you!”

The path between the shop and Flyin’ G Ranch is so calming. The trees stand tall with leaves hanging on like little soldiers. The air has that late-Summer smell, but the musky scent of fall is becoming more and more apparent. The gravel and fallen leaves crunch under our feet, eventually giving way to soft and grassy lawn where the sounds of our footsteps cease. As we walk up Penny Lane, he reaches down and interlaces his fingers with mine. We walk and chat, arms swinging in sync. He always has this way of making me feel like a kid again, and I cherish it.

The walk takes all of a minute, and when I look up, the sight is something that always makes me smile. It seems like I always stop and take a mental picture of these things because I’m half afraid that one day, they won’t exist. The other half is because I never want to forget what I feel in my heart when I think about it.

I guess I’m just a sentimental sap in that way.

Greetings are exchanged, along with countless hugs and kisses - each and every one given without hesitation, and oh so generously.

“There she is!”

“How are you?”

“Oh my god did you hear…?”

It’s all so basic, so normal, so right. I’m standing in the kitchen, stirring pasta sauce listening to the excited chatter and stories being exchanged. I hear the inexplicable sound of baby giggles and suddenly, I’m reaching for Maggie and placing her securely on my hip. She studies my face before breaking into a huge grin, and mine follows instantaneously. We wave, we play patty cake, we take pictures, we laugh. I smother her in kisses before she’s whisked away to the next person where she’ll surely kill them with her perfect chubby cheeks, drooly, toothy smile and facial expressions that will bring you to your knees.

Forks clattered on plates, spaghetti was slurped, salad crunched, wine glasses filled (always). 1, 2, 3 rounds it took to finally gather all the trash. A massive black forest cake from Madonna Inn was adorned with candles and a very lively (not to mention off-key) version of Happy Birthday was sang. A baby’s first time seeing such things, a grown women’s fifty-second, the flames dancing and reflecting in both of their eyes.

With eyes closed tight, wishes are made. Just as quickly as the flickering light was there, it's gone and the twisting towers of smoke left behind marks the ending and beginning of another year of life. It's beautiful and symbolic in more ways than one, and it never, ever gets old.