“Bunk….bunk….bunk….bunk….”— an 8-year-old kicking, swinging his left leg, hitting underneath the pew in front, waiting for the speaker to say “For my last point…” as the big hand passes 12, pews harden and stomachs speak.

“……………………………..”— her silent stare after he said, “Should you be eating that on your diet?” thus initiating two weeks of silent treatment as he makes an italicized mental note under the heading “Things Better Left Unsaid.”

“Dip dip……..dip dip………dip dip……”— that disarming skip of the pigtailed girl, bouncing down the path, weightless, as the world plods around in envy.

“Schwoopaaa……..schwoopaaa……….schwoopaaa…….”— the windshield wipers, making music with the rain, keeping the rhythm, as the brake lights illuminate up ahead, and up ahead, and up ahead and….

“Glug……… Glug…….. Glug, glug, glug, glug”— a particularly fine tasting jug of distilled spirits as it makes its rounds and stops at one who appreciates its qualities.

“Dud, dud, dud………dud, dud…….dud, dud”— what you heard at six years of age, lying in bed on that December night. Eyes popping open, your body stiffened as your heart pounded your chest from inside. Reindeer hooves on the roof.

“Pink……………pink……….pink…..pink…pink..pink,” — that perfect flat rock skimming across the pond like a spaceship, as your mind unknowingly counts the “pinks.”

“Pshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh……..”— emitted when one is digging a hole where the water line is not supposed to be.

“x#!*#!#!!!”— often heard after the “Pshhhhhh” sound.

“Plum.. plum.. plum…..bap……waaaaaaaaaaa!…shunk, shunk, shunk, shunk,shunk….”— the child, experimenting with first steps, tilts over and introduces himself to the coffee table. Mom, dad, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and the family dog come to the rescue.

“Pip”— one lonely, salty tear as it slides down the widow’s cheek, hangs in balance on the curvature, then plummets the distance until met by a blade of grass adorning her husband’s grave.