Standing Tall in Central New York: Rain, Groceries, Reunions, and Family (Yo! This is 30 Years for Class of 1990)

The weather people were not cooperative. They argued for rain all day, and even so I got a run in (with mom's green rain coat) and dad was able to mow the new neighbor's yard (whether that was permissible or not). Dave and Casey drove to Clay to provide the resources to bring Cynde and Mike's lawn mower back to them, and we had a size-up between Papi Butch and Sean-Man (the argument was that dad was in his sneakers and that wasn't fair). We believe Sean has surpassed him.

A trip home isn't a trip home without a voyage to Price Chopper (Prithe Thopper, as they used to say in Binghamton), where we bought items to recreate yesterday's great meal: more chicken, more Pierogies, more coleslaw. Two nights in a row, a phenomenal meal.

It's also been over a year since I've seen Kanyea, as his administrative role and long hours make it almost impossible to catch up with him face to face, although we remain regulars via phone calls and text. He stopped by yesterday afternoon, as well as Rhiannon and Eric (who I finally was able to meet). I felt bad for my parents as they aren't used to so much social stimulation. People. Then more people. And even more people.

Today is supposed to be pretty gray, but I'm hoping to move on to request #2, the garage, and help the parental units to get that more organized. I said to dad yesterday afternoon, "This could be a rough winter for you and mom," in which he replied, "Bryan, you don't want to get old. This is so much harder than I ever thought it would be. 

Meanwhile, Kanyea is in his mid-twenties prime, making money, surviving on his own, and making his way.

As I ran once again yesterday, I kept thinking, "Phew. If only I stopped in front of every home of every classmate I had in Cherry Heights and began writing."

There are so many stories to these streets, and 30 years later, they are stories that simply belong to my generation alone. It seems that every corner and crevice in the neighborhood is 100% loaded with the stories of my generation, but then comes Sean, and then there's Kanyea, and of course Rhiannon stops by, and I'm like, "Well, the stories go on and on and on." They aren't contained to Cherry Heights.

Who we were once upon a time is absolutely no longer the same and that is a beautiful thing.

Next time, Jacob will be taller than dad.