The mornings have been tough lately. I seem to be more tired than usual, and upon waking I immediately begin the internal dialog to get myself motivated to move. I push myself, I tell myself that June got up every morning much earlier than this, looked amazing and then went and kicked ass all day long. June really was the "right wife". Of course, she smashed my grandfather over the head with an iron skillet after he hit her (in her early twenties) and they were divorced shortly after that. That is the abbreviated story, but it sometimes amazes me that my grandmother had been married, given birth and divorced all by the age of 22. Here I am at 25 and change, and while I have the marriage bit down, I haven't done much else.
But seriously, people, can you imagine? My grandmother was moved to New York from Cambridge (in England) at the ripe old age of 19 to be married (pretty much against her will, but that is another story) and then finds herself divorced. After that, her life just exploded all over the place. There wasn't a place her feet touched the earth that she didn't leave a mark. First it was Puerto Rico, then back to New York. Modeling, Running Fashion Shows, working for years in the fashion industry, spending a week at a time in the Caribbean between shows. And then, the year she turned 50, she dropped it all and moved to AZ to be closer to all of us. Her four grandchildren. Her daughter. Thus began the weekly Saga of The June Chronicles. It was happy, it was miserable, it was highly unpredictable. For years and years, June came over EVERY weekend. She would show up early Saturday morning with a trunk full of groceries and would cook us breakfast, lunch and dinner. She crammed our tummies full of snacks (some healthy, some not... I distinctly recall eating cheese slices with butter smeared on them, lol). Sometimes she would spend the night, sometimes she would just come back the next day. And of course, we all took it for granted.
What I do remember the most about those weekends (and it was every weekend) is being incredibly excited waiting for her car to pull up in our driveway. We would all scream "June June!" and go running for the door to help her carry in groceries. June introduced us to all the finer things in life, like lenders onion bagels piled high with butter and cream cheese, the fluffiest scrambled eggs on the planet, virgin bloody mary's and in general an overabundance of food. The most excited person of all? Hands down it was Sirius, our household Doberman. He loved June more than anyone thought possible, and his little stump of a tail never stopped wagging as soon as he sensed her car rolling up the street.
As the years went by, and we got older, the visits became more strained. June still came ridiculously early, but we were no longer "the rise and shine" bunch, and rather would spend our time sleeping in until noon. Sometimes June would get pissed and wake us all up and drag us out for breakfast. Sometimes she let us sleep. Sometimes June and my mother would get into a awful fight, and June wouldn't come back for awhile. But then she would show up again like nothing ever happened at all. And then we were in high school, and then my mom left for New York with my little sister to get a new start my Sophomore year of high school. As soon as I could drive, June and I got a chance to start over, this time as friends.
So, now, it is time to go to work. Go Kerith, Go. You can do this. June did this. June did this better than you. You've got to live up to your blood, Kerith. Go. Go. Go!