Along with the sunshine…

I remember when this song was a hit and coming into or leaving the house, seeing mom in the kitchen. Often cooking and cleaning, but sometimes she was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and the ever-present cigarette trickling smoke—pooling with vestiges from those that came before—that climbed and formed a cloud near the ceiling. Or I’d find her standing over the sink, looking out of the window onto the field and pasture that ran acres to the east and north. I wondered what she was looking at, what she was thinking, but never thought to ask. Mom was mom, and I had little understanding of how a hard-scrabble life wore on her. And she would sing this song… I remember how she’d pat my cheek with a soapy, dishwater, hand, as I got a glass of water from the tap. Then off I’d go… head full of my own thoughts and things to deal with… but looking back, I can still hear her sing her way through the rain.

“Along with the sunshine… there’s gotta be a little rain some time…”

PLEASE READ: This--below--is where intelligent comments are exchanged and threads of meaningful and thought-provoking discussion can take place. Some of my favorite stories I've written started with such exchanges and through them I've met some truly wonderful people. This comment section is a place where it's almost old-school in that responses--if one is needed--may not be immediate but will come. Kind of like postal mail correspondence, an easier pace that allows thoughtfulness and not knee-jerk fingers flying over keyboard replies, or something that comes out as top of mind, a stream of conscious superficiality. I hope to hear from and interact with you on anything I've written that sparks a thought or urge to comment.

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