Topeka, Twelve Years Later

"I haven't been to Kansas in twelve years," I remarked to the woman next to me on the plane as we landed.

"You're in Missouri," she smiled politely back.

Yes, I know Kansas City is in Missouri. But just because Topeka's airport stopped serving commercial airlines a while ago doesn't change the final destination of my trip. Markell met me at the airport, we picked up our rental car, and off we went.

On my desk rests a family photo we took from our last trip to Kansas. We're out standing by the duck ponds on a cold fall day, our dad in a jacket three times heavier than necessary because his little toes were always cold, our mother and her insanely large owl glasses, Markell in a shade of purple they stopped making during Prince's heyday, I'm rocking my favorite green suede jacket, and Pauline still looks like an imp. Which of course means its around 1996 give or take a fashion season or two, not like it would have changed anything for us anyways.

This time around, it was just me and Markell. She's now old enough to rent a car, and I'm finally taller than she is. Like many last minute trips, our reason fell on the sad side of the coin and not the happy. Let's just say it has not been a good year for uncles. But at the same time, our trip was long over due and I was very excited to finally see our aunt after a several year gap. We passed the time cracking jokes and sharing old family stories. Our Aunt had a stash of old family photos we dusted off from the basement and got good practice with the family tree. Ethel? No, Doris. Is that Joe's first wife? Nope, his sister Ida.

Deep in the pile was a letter from my father two weeks after I was born announcing my arrival to his sister, along with two photos of a red-faced baby not too keen on opening her eyes just yet. Jean reads it out loud, after pointing out that he had to correct the spelling of my name because he too thought it should be Francis. He describes me as a "quiet, placid, and serene baby--" at which point Markell bursts out laughing. "That's the first and last time you've ever been called that!" Thanks Markell. But Jean chuckles and says to let her finish the sentence, "--no doubt she is up to something."

And I suppose I still am.

We forget sometimes to call or write. We forget birthdays and anniversaries and other important dates. We forget to visit while we still can. And to top it all off, what finally gets us to buy the plane ticket is news that what we forgot to do can't be done anymore. Only then do we drop everything and remember.

Here's to remembering more often.