Once in a while I go to this McDonalds to work online while the twins are in preschool. They have really fast wifi. Plus, I confess I like their French fries. There is always an older man there. Tall and slender, with a poof of billowy white hair. He wears checkered shirts and pressed slacks, and he drinks the senior discount coffee while chatting with his friends. The friends vary. But he never does.
As I sit there and blog, his voice never fails to send me traveling to the past. He sounds exactly like my grandfather. While there is no resemblance in appearance, his voice has the same nuances, the same accent, the same tone as my mom's father. I can't sit there listening without remembering cousins and pugs and fossil-hunting walks through the fields. Cans full of magic markers for drawing, Gumby on the ceiling fan, chewing tobacco, soft rabbits in cages, and faded plastic cups of iced tea.
Me, age 2
Readers, do you ever hear voices from the past?