A very big heart-full thank you for all of your lovely supportive thoughts and wishes. I'm here in Oregon. The drive yesterday was a little precarious, but to my great relief and joy a very good dear friend, who likes adventures and driving, said she would drive me and then take the train back to Seattle! Can you believe it?!
The view and company were beautiful.
But now I am here. My brother, who lives here, had to work today, one sister arrived this evening, my Rhode Island sister was delayed by a storm and won't be here until tomorrow.
So, I was alone in Dad's house today. Some of the time was spent packing up the kitchen for donations, some of it was wandering aimless through the rooms learning some things about him. Overwhelmed by the task, grunge, emotions, I took breaks. Went to the grocery store for boxes. Went for a long walk in the rain through my childhood streets. Stood under the tree next to our old house. Remembered dad up in it, trimming the branches, one falling on his face and breaking his nose.
This was my bedroom, there were pink gingham curtains back then. The house was light blue. At night, I would crawl out and sit on the roof, looking at the trees and street lights, the park two blocks away, the sky, trying to imagine a bigger world. One night I wrote a poem about it. It was in seventh grade. (I know that because I remember it was in the spiral notebook with a scratch-n-sniff dill pickle on the cover.) When I showed it to a friend the next day, she didn't believe I wrote it.
I wonder what it said?
