Here goes nothin'.

On a dare and a bit of inspiration I am spending the month of April in the A to Z blogging challenge. The hope is to use the month as a way to dedicate to writing, but to also become better at it

I hope you enjoy.

Erased

Entranced in the belongings of my world and the demands which take me to and from. 

A moment the Insignificant is erased and Important becomes my truth.

Annie

When I saw her, the drapes fell from my eyes.  A universe unto my heart, unto my mind.  She still sings my song.

Cleansed

All I really had wanted was to pop in the ear buds, turn on Bon Iver and get the job done. You see, I'm not particularly thrilled with the notion of trading in my all-to-small pickup but it's gotten beyond necessary.

So I pulled the wife's car from the garage, and moved mine within to begin the job. It's not an easy one. I'm not what could be described as a neatfreak so it'd been a good two years, 20,000 miles and dozens of slightly spilled coffees on the bumpy road to work since it had seen the wrong end of a vacuum.

I reached for the Bon Iver as they popped into my periphery. I couldn't blame them. Eighty degrees in mid-March tends to allow the senses to pull you through the door. But still I worked.

I pulled old parade candy -- homecoming? Fair? 2009? 2010? Who knows when I got it -- along with check stubs, a pocket full of change and enough disposable ink pens to hand write a set of Britannicas.

All in a box. All awaiting sorting.

Then they jumped in. They're the reason for ditching the old Ranger. There's no other reason to rid myself of it other than practicality. There is no payment. It's comfortable as an old pair of jeans. But it's simply too small to be of any use anymore.

Reluctantly I'm walking into the world of sports equipment-filled minivans. A few weeks ago my first gray hairs. Now this. I get it. I'm a dad. No need to force feed me a midlife crisis sandwich.

There they sat. My little girl playing the chauffeur to my son. Twenty years ago, that was my younger brothers.  Pretending to be our dad as he worked on his baby. That '65 Mustang sits unpolished, unfinished in the garage brain cancer left empty nearly four years ago.

A generation later, the broken down muscle car is the scaffold of my childhood. Now, the only vehicle I've known as a father will effectively be a down payment.

I catch my tears before it's evident how the life of this truck is more than fenders and wheels. It was the first big purchase of my post college life. It was memories of my late father. It was long country rides with my boy next to me and on my lap for the turnabout in the driveway. It was long lonely trips where the only solace was sweet music and tears for missed moments at home.  It was date night with my wife. It was moving out for the first time. It was becoming a father and a man without a realization of it being my time. It was freedom and it was mine.

The smell of Armor All now brings my flirtation with sobbing to near boil.

But I turn back to look at the kids. There is my son, almost five, teaching his sister to honk the horn. Her shock, then joy are exceedingly beautiful and the subsequent contagion of his laughter turns my melancholy to a smile.