Curious path

Today is Sunday. An early, 6:30 AM sunny, Spring morning. Up in time for church, breakfast, yard work, house chores and then the weekly journey to see our grandparents. The scent of the sauce still makes my mouth water. Just listen, while it makes its noise, “blub, blub, blub”, perfectly, with vegetables seared just right. An aroma of fresh bread filled the house, to the point when a door was open or if a window was cracked, you could smell it outside. If you are close enough to it to hear it crackle and sing as it cools. Plus, if you are close when they cut it, you may be lucky to catch a corner of the heel! An another amazing afternoon is in store filled with food, family, and frank conversation around the table. Yes, between the recent rumors from the church, news of distant cousins in far away lands, chatter about the neighbors, and a few conversations where they waited for the kids to leave to play. In one families case, they new if these two brothers were within an ear shot, “radar” would hear and ask about it later.

The two brothers in this family were young. One curious teenager, awkward, and a bit of an empath. While the younger brother, sporty, outgoing, on the cusp of being a teenager. After the meal many retired to various chairs throughout the house to catch a bit of a snooze before dessert, fruit and nuts were shared. As the older brother peered across the family room, warmed, nearly hugged by the bright afternoon light he seemed to be entranced. Something caught his gaze. As the sun shifted, it unveiled his father napping in an armchair. Almost feeling his sons gaze, he raises an eyelid, glanced his way and to say, “where has the day gone?”, as he stirred from his nap mid-afternoon. Glancing up at his father, puzzled, his son paused, contemplating for a moment, “time?”, he asked. “One day, you’ll see, time moves faster and faster”, as he smirked and walked toward the kitchen for a piece of fruit and a slice of pastry.

As he looked at the chair where the father was sitting, a couple pages were crumpled in between in the chair and the cushion. After further inspection, three folded pages were tattered, obviously worn from being kept in his pocket, no one knows for how long. In unfolding the pages, one was ruled with straight, horizontal lined with various seemingly, illegible scribblings on them. Another sheet was blank with tiny sketches and the feeling of pressed stamps. A third and final page was a squared grid with tabulations, a sequence of dates, and two sets of codes.

Dessert was out. This will have to wait. He folded the pieces back up and placed them in his pocket till later.

After the right home, it was early evening and near dark. “Time for bed”, echoed through the house. After the usual father-to-son and brother-to-brother good nights, as the door shut for the night, he turned on his desk lamp, retrieved the pages from his pocket to begin his exploration of them. Peppered with broken thoughts, near incoherent ramblings were scattered across the lines on both sides of the page. Will my writing be that bad when I’m older? These stamps were of a phoenix, a dragon, and a geometric shape. The drawings peaked this young mans curiosity. What could a large, leg of prosciutto, an orchid, and a being, stretched and reaching upward have in common? Yes, the young man knew what prosciutto was. He had the opportunity to appreciate and understand the uniqueness of this fine, dry-cured ham, thinly, near paper thin shavings, with many other Italian delicacies.

Where are these alphanumeric coordinates to? These other numbers next to them were also all numeric sequences. These dates are all within a three week stretch of time. How do the sketches, the stamps and the dates fit with the writings? What were these pages from? For safe keeping, he saved the pages in a comic book case. His mind raced all night. As an adult it is one thing, as a young-adult, quite another.

He awoke, 6 AM, to catch his Dad at the table for breakfast before he left for work. The news was at a whisper that it could barely be heard. Fresh squeezed orange juice misted the air. Toasted mini-wheats, bobbing in milk accompanied a slide of toast, half with strawberry jam and half with peanut butter. His father could see he had something to say, “well, what are you thinking?”, leapt from his fathers mouth. Anxiously, filled with questions, he opened the comic book case and presented his Dad the pages, three. After a quick glance, quicker than I could blink, a short crisp response hit home, “we will talk about those when you are older”, as though I hit a wall that rendered me immovable. “When I am older? How old though?”, he muttered, disappointed with his reply. Silence, as if he did not hear him. He did, he paused, looking back into the kitchen as he turned right to walk out the garage door to leave for work and shared, “I love you. Have a great day. All in good time - do not want you to grow up too fast.”, as he smiled to leave.

Twenty years later. The comic book case was found by his Dad. It was returned to his son.

Being older now, having traveled a bit and nearly on his second passport, he looked at the pages, this time with his Dad. The drawings on the blank page were straightforward, but the stamps were puzzling. On the lined page they figured out the writings were seemingly random, some even incomplete:

1) Order from ham bar charcuterie plate

2) Sketch the amazing bronze statue from the streets filled with browning butter to follow the smell of fresh bread

3) Test the island sand, built from the learnings of the greatest of our time, dotted by countless orchids

4) Walk sea path lined by graves where where the second meets history to gain three hundred years

5) Embrace the array of color, from spices mounded taller than small children at the crossroads of East and West

6) Visit the protected lion next to the gallery

7) My sweet home, from a pianist, with the best food, a lake, and nothing better than family

The squared page had three weeks of dates that were filled with possible flight codes and train schedules. While another section had what could be hotel reservation numbers. Rough costs were added with summary tabulations.

How did the three pages fit into the original little black book?

Enclosed in the comic book case, was the little black book to which the pages were separated from and a new little black book with a note, “please accept this gift with this book to either retrace the steps of my old itinerary, or exchange my steps to pave your own path. No matter the path you choose, time for you to capture these experiences through your eyes to create your own memories”.

Which path did his son choose?