After the redheads left for their normal destinations, I visited Mom. It didn't take her long to figure out exactly who I was, even though I arrived unannounced. We played Scrabble. My one seven letter word (which earned me 74 points) was RELATED. It felt appropriate. We're still related. We still relate, though differently.
From there I went out into the misty, moisty morning to walk a nearby labyrinth. It always centers my spirit, calms my soul. I breathed in the early spring air, walked carefully on the mossy paths, greeted the rocks as I came to them, again and again. In the center I sat. And listened. To the woods. To myself.
This afternoon I plunged deeply into the 1972 brain of my father. I examined his week-at-a-glance calendar, page by page. There was no glancing about it--at some points I needed a magnifying glass to decode his cryptic astrological notes.
Coming down to the kitchen, where my cheerful beloved was putting the final touches on supper, felt like swimming up from the bottom of a deep, murky pool. 1972 was so real--Dad hitchhiking back and forth, his fasting, his larger-than-life new age ideas. Could it really be that I actually live in 2008, under a roof, with a television and white rice, and a husband who earns a regular paycheck and comes home when we expect him?
Have I really managed to fool the gods and end up with a mainstream, sane, safe, happy life?
Labyrinth indeed.
Gratitude abounds.
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