I bawled on Christmas Eve day. It was a hearty, completely-losing-it weepfest. It felt pretty good to cry as I fought to finish the handmade cherry pie. As my daughter didn’t take her afternoon nap. Oh yes, woe! I was wallowing in woes. Most of my own making.
I yearn for the simpler days when we weren’t all talking about, and exchanging, money in the mutually beneficent system known as Casual Carpool.
And all I had to do for a week was to care for Alejandro–which wasn’t half as hard as it is here, when I’m working and constantly running around–and to show him the small things I remembered: the dock, the clams, the constant need for life jackets and bug spray.
With Minos’ inevitable passing, I’m pushed off the mesa of my young adult life.
I have to ask myself: well, how did we get here? (Talking Heads: the days go by / water flowing under ground…) I think it had something to do with the broad brush strokes on that piece of paper on the fridge. We weren’t studying it, but it was at eye level, and it reminded us what we wanted. It was a vision, a loose outline with lots of positive intention.