I've been taking Ben to school lately.

I woke up with the grog of the blog on my mind. The air stuck to the walls, like tubes of old oil paint. I coughed, the kind that makes you wheeze when you are done. Last night had been the same. I was full of shit, snotting everywhere and tugging at the sheets to resume the blackness of the pre light switch era. Oh well.

I got up and grabbed at Charlotte, my wife. She was bathed in the sweat from the night dark and looked sweet smiling at me with crusty eyes and pretty little lips. I laughed, a chunky laugh. "Good morning love." I smiled. She smiled back and we both sat straight up and slid our legs off opposite sides of the bed in search of the cool concrete floor. We found it.

With a big push I was able to find myself in the bathroom with a mouth full of sudding bubbling teeth cleaner and the brush that accompanied such rituals. I was fully aware of the day before me, and seeing as I had slept an extra eleven minutes it took great effort to not rush the minutes spent sharing a sink with my love and my lady. "Cleanliness is next to nothing short of a brisk low country creek My Dear." she screamed over the roar of the shower steaming and heating behind us. I nodded and thanked her for encouraging me in my efforts.

Sounds of large bumps and scuffles could be heard on the first level of the house in which we rented the basement. The Jackson's owned the living quarters upstairs and were kind enough to allow us to live below their modern country American dream television show reality station. We enjoyed it just fine. Our dogs allowed free roam throughout the varied landscapes that surrounded the home, they had been out since six AM lurking for mice, or rabbit, or deer, or skunk, or birds, or bugs, in the deep greens and browns and purples of the early sunrise.

I was able to caress my tempered ankle into my old black shoes and standing upright as one should, take steps towards the steps rising to the Jackson's living area. The steps were painted Red and had a crook at the third step leading you to a right turn and up to the smells of coffee, and bacon, and eggs, and medicine, and soap, and floor cleaner. They were, as stated, a wonderfully modern and comfortable country family: with all the trimmings, happiness, sadness, and hurt and healing.

The smells hit me strongly as I caressed the door handled downward and pushed my way into the living room where I was greeted by Donna, a small and caring woman of Fifty Six with great big eyes of blue. She would hug you at first sight, to which we had been acclimated. "Want some coffee?" She sang as she walked towards the pot, her decision to pour coffee for us already made. "Sure, Mrs. Jackson." I called back across the large living quarters.

"Now, you know you're supposed to call me Mom." She darted my way with a large cup of steaming Black coffee. "I know." I responded. "How is Mr. Jackson?" I asked. Mr. Jackson, John, was a nice man who spoke very little. His directions, so I could gather, was one of What needs saying, will be said, etc.

"He is fine," she said lowering her head and hands, "as well as can be expected. The doctors say they will let us know in a few weeks." Her voice had gone very solid as she spoke. They had been having a tough time these past few weeks since Mr. Jackson had become sick. We were trying to stay out of the way and do our part to help out and stay innocent.

Coffee in hand I heard the basement steps and entered Charlotte via the side door, latch handle down and door calmly creaking open. "Hello dear." She cooed, looking around at Donna and myself and the coffee and televisions playing the morning NEWS programs. "How are we all this morning?" Her words directed at Donna the same way mine had been. "Just fine." Donna replied, her lips a bit pursed, the conjured thoughts clearly expressed in the lines of her fore head.

"Ben ready yet?" I asked in Donna's direction. I had been taking Ben, their son to school every morning since Mr. Jackson had become sick. Ben was a delight. In my dealings thus far I could tell that he had never met a stranger, old sayings sometimes do tend to be true it seems, Ben proved that. "I think we will go by the Dairy Center for breakfast before school if that's okay with you Donn...errr, Mom?" I said, as I walked towards the kitchen sink with my empty coffee cup with the Nationwide Is On Your Side slogan laden on its side. "He will enjoy that, here is some money." She replied, handing me twenty American dollars. She was always giving me money for Ben because Ben could not count American money very well, or any money well for that matter. Ben was mentally handicap(able), and a delight to share a ride with.

As I tucked the bill into my left side jean pocket Ben came around the corner, freshly showered, brushed, combed, i-poded, with Metallica blaring from the headphones that hung aloof around his neck. "Sup, man!" he shouted in my direction. "Not much Big Man." I returned. "Ready for another day in the world?" I asked, as he came in for his and my morning hug. There were at least fifteen morning hugs, but the first was always the best. It was good the cherish the good things, and allow them to happen organically.

"See you guys around Three Thirty," Charlotte called over her coffee, "we've got Wii Bowling this afternoon." Ben was quite the Wii Bowler and smiled greatly at this news. He then reached over and gave me my second hug of the morning saying, "Oh yea, its gonna be a good day buddy." To which I smiled and said, "You dang right man, now lets get your lunch bag and head to the car, it's getting late."

There came another hug, and further glancing around the living space at Charlotte and Donna and Myself and the television, and the morning NEWS program, and the coffee pot singing in the background, and the headphones around Ben's neck blaring Metallica. "Ready to do this?" I asked Ben as I gestured towards the front door and my truck idling just outside. "Man, oh yea, let's get it." He replied, as he reached over to hug his mother, then Charlotte, then point at the dogs out the glass of the rear French Doors, and turn to grab my shoulder as we both headed for the front door and the day ahead.

"Gonna be a good one." He said. And I agreed.