the day after we buried my sister my mom and I drove back down the road
Sophia is fine.
But there is a sadness as we approach the still point. Pack members gone. Life changing. Loss of familiar voices. Old ones going going. Dance and sing. Pause, remember, mourn.
At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.–T.S.Eliot
Father, husband, brother, uncle, friend… A very very very good man.
June 30, 1926 — June 11, 2012
This is a posed picture. My mom can walk. Works on it everyday. Big cerebral event two months ago. She hadn’t been in a car in nine weeks. What American does that? Beautiful weather, I proposed a test drive, “where would you like to go?”
She said, “I’d like to see my brother.”
So we did.
Drove across town.
Pausing for a
Always treat your parents as if they are close friends who are soon to move to a distant land from where it will be impossible ever to
return. Never take them for granted, no matter how busy life gets. You can’t imagine your mother and father dying. And then they do.–Tony Parsons
Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do,
forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth
unto those things which are before.–Philippians 3:13 KJV
The great grand-daughter and the great-great grand-daughter of the lady who built my house visited last night.
They visit partially for love of place and because they value a tradition where tales are told to succeeding generations of preceding generations.
Who will tell your story?
Who will give a tinker’s dam.
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