Third to Home

Third to Home

I can still feel the hot chili in the less-than-paper-thin Frito‘s bag at the ball­park as a kid. Frito Pie is what hap­pened after play­ing in the game.

Canned chili, warmed, one ladle‘s worth
Small bag Frito‘s, bag cut lenth­wise
Add chili
Serve with white paper nap­kin and lit­tle white spoon

Dur­ing the game the gig was to put as much bub­ble gum in my mouth as pos­si­ble while yelling “bat­ter bat­ter bat­ter bat­ter batter…swing!” The sun set warm and I can‘t remem­ber now if I won or lost any of those games. I just played.

Peo­ple who have been to death‘s door say that when we die we see a light and peo­ple flood back into our brains and mem­o­ries jum­ble back, maybe like a tsunami. All those cells hold­ing those mem­o­ries unload all at once, one last Pollack-esque mural of every­thing. Mem­o­ries are a lit­tle bit of dying, a lit­tle bit of the end. They are yesterday‘s news. When I was young I was not remem­ber­ing any­thing. I was doing the liv­ing. I keep going back in this writ­ing place because I am return­ing for that kid at the ball park, liv­ing now the best way I can, know­ing every­thing I know and doing it any­way. It wont’ be, can‘t be, the same as then. I am com­ing back with mem­ory, for one. Also, I don‘t want to go back in a non-conscious way. I want to be there for the sec­ond time and, as Eliot says, know it for the first time.
I am on this jour­ney to my heart. Mem­ory, now, is the road I am trav­el­ing.
Tonight Rose asked me if I am ready to have my heart walk­ing around out­side of me when Aidan comes. I need to know that heart so I know it when I see it out there, so I know him when I see him round­ing third, coming home.

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6 Responses to Third to Home

  1. Bobbi says:

    Gorgeous as usual…


  2. Stephen L. Parkhurst says:

    I just love reading your post.

  3. Barbara says:

    I love these memories that you recall with such detail — I remember Frito corn chips, but not the chili… that why you like chili so much today?

  4. Kathleen says:

    Great post. I’ve always heard about Frito Pie from people I’ve known from Texas and I still don’t understand the “pie” part.
    The photo is amazing, the rainbow of course. But you are either taller than I thought or are you standing on something (bleachers?) when you took this?

  5. stephenarcher says:

    Kathleen and Barbara
    The Frito pie is its own mysterious greatness. It couldn’t be named anything else, kind of like water has to be water. Or love.
    Bleachers…getting ready to yell at umpires, inappropriately, when they, appropriately, call Aidan out at the plate

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