I just got home from a long road trip. I visited places I lived as a child. I walked around the block at the first house I remember. I walked past my first elementary school, and saw little kids running on the playground. I told my son “that was me 55 years ago.”
It’s a good thing we can’t know what’s coming. I’m sure I would have skipped a lot of it, but it was all necessary to get me right here. And I’m glad I’m right here.
I visited the farm in Romeo again. I spent more time in town. I drove past my friend’s house. She died recently, and the house has new owners, but I remembered her.
I spent a night with my aunt and uncle. 56 years ago, I was the ring bearer in their wedding. It was wonderful to catch up with them.
The reason for the trip was to celebrate my dad’s 91st birthday. Three of my four brothers were there, and we celebrated together. I brought a few more pieces home with me. They are exhibits in the museum of my life.
Yesterday, I reconnected with dear friends. What joy. More than friends.
A lot of water has flowed under all of our bridges, but the banks are firm, and we could all enjoy the view together.
I listened to the chime of the clock that hung in our dining room on the farm. It was just below my bedroom, so I always knew what time it was. It marked the time when I was a child, and still records the minutes all these years later.
Now I am back home. My favorite place in all the world.