Alyse In Words

DIYing the Next Part Of This Life

An Armadillo Named Prozac

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2.2 – 33 days in.  On 2.2.17 the world was covered in a thick layer of ice.  My son stayed here because the roads were terrible.  I think he has a tiny phobia about his new/used truck.  On Christmas Day a tree fell and squished his little car like a bug.  It wasn’t a Bug but you get the idea.  He has a little silver truck now.  I watched him scraping the ice from the windshield this morning and realized I had the power to see him safely along the roads.  With great solemnity I explained that he could not drive off to work without a sacred family heirloom and strong protection charm that I was passing along to him.

I gave him Prozac.  A small, stuffed armadillo toy named Prozac.

A little history:  I drove cross country about 18 years ago, Pennsylvania to Colorado, with my two small kids toward  no job and no house–just a plan for change.  We had weathered a life-altering experience and I wanted a fresh start.  Somewhere in Oklahoma or Nebraska we stopped at one of those roadside places that is a diner/gas station/mini mart/hair salon/wedding chapel…okay, I made up the last two but you know what kind of place I mean.  They had a bin of small stuffed critters near the cash register and the kids decided I needed one.  They presented me with a striped rat that, according to the tag on it, was actually an armadillo.  The kids passed it back and forth and argued for the next 75 miles about what to name it.  I took the thing, pressed its nose between the windshield and dashboard and said, “If you don’t quit arguing over it, I’m going to name it Prozac because that is what I will need a large dose of very soon.”  Then I was required to explain what Prozac is.  They decided the name was perfect.  He lived on the dashboard of 3 more vehicles but when I got Sapphire–this vehicle that is part of my on-my-own life, I retired him.  There is a talisman hanging from my rear view mirror–a full azurite moon, a crystal crescent, an abalone new moon strung with glittering beads.

When I pressed ‘Prozie’ into my son’s palm he was surprised, delighted and grinned foolishly.  I let it go.  I still have everything of it I need but I have also passed it on.

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