In the beginning, my ducks


I once drove from California back home to the south with my friend Gretchen. We stopped at my uncle's in Memphis, and visited the Peabody Hotel. Those ducks, they're in some rows! Down the elevator, in a stately line along the red carpet, PLOP in the fountain, round and round. All accounted for, all terribly dignified.

My ducks, not so much. One still has her feathers in curlers under a colorful scarf. Another's in the car, honking the horn. The baggage-laden one is jumping up and down on her suitcase, with underwear sticking out around the edges. One is trying to light a candle and have a Meaningful Moment, but the wind keeps blowing it out, and no one else will participate anyway. Another has her head in a book. One duck is standing at attention, waiting for instruction, with no clue where to go. Ah, ducks.

Tomorrow I go on the first foray of my journey--to Macon, GA, where I'll be getting to know my Granddaddy. He died when I was 11, and I have very fond memories of him, in a Granddaddy-sort of way. But he was also a public person. His papers are in Special Collections at Mercer. I'm hoping to find some of him in the history room (I imagine it as the Room of Requirement) at the church where he was the beloved minister for so long.

While I'm there, I'll stay with old friends of my parents, the person who introduced them and then later wondered if that was a big mistake. I've only met them once before, when I was in Macon for my grandmother's funeral a few years ago.

I'm not at all sure where this will go, where I'll land. But I have directions to get to Macon, and for now, that's enough.