Wednesday, February 17, 2010

I left my heart...

All the way home yesterday--on the walk, the BART, the Air-BART, the sit (our flight was delayed due to the ubiquitous fog in the bay area), the flight, the bus, the drive home yesterday--I had it planned.  I was going to be loquacious--no, make that articulate, NOT just chatty--about my trip to San Francisco. However, this morning, I was still in my REM cycle when my cell-phone rang.  Across town Beve's small group (which is what he's taken to calling them) was having an emergency.  Thyrza had fallen in the shower.  Blood was spurting everywhere.   "I'm on my way," I said. And on that way, I called Beve to find out where the closest walk-in clinic might be.

Hours later, we returned home, leg duly wrapped, ointments duly bought, just in time for lunch. I'm getting better at loading and unloading walkers and wheelchairs, though am less proficient at maneuvering that chair through a closed door.  I mean, seriously, how does one open a door from behind a wheelchair, anyway?  Any suggestions would be helpful! 

My trip really was fun. I have a few observations:
San Francisco has a lot of hills.  We walked them  My calves noticed.   All very well and good until we stopped walking them and sat for a while.  Then those calves ceased to work.  Wanted to stand and graze.  chew the cud, so to speak.  Anything but move.  However, once I directed them to get a move on again, they stopped protesting until the next time we stopped.  We should have just kept walking.  I wasn't smart enough to figure this out.
The musical Wicked is wonderful.  Worth seeing, worth pondering, worth contemplating.  We did all three.  I just bought the CD, which SK already told me she's going to steal and burn onto her computer.  The suggestion that wickedness is sometimes in the eye of the beholder is a provocative one, the idea that we each impact each other and the only question is whether we will change each other for better or for worse is a gospel one.  We talked of these things.  It was a breath-takingly glorious couple of hours. Sped by.  Thank-you, the Dump, for such a great gift!
College campuses, even those in the middle of enormous cities, are almost always beautiful.  I've been on many campuses on this side of the country, and those campuses are mostly large parks.  There's the city of Oakland.  Then there's the campus of Berkeley.  And it's like entering a different world to go from the one to the other.  Berkeley is an oasis of serenity and beauty (particularly early on a weekend afternoon most students are still sleeping--or perhaps at the basketball game).  My nephew, who has been a student there for all of four and a half months, already uses the personal pronoun to speak of Berkeley, speaks of Cal as though he could count the time he's been there in years rather than months.  When asked why this has happened for him, he answered, "I found community."  Of course, I thought.  That's always it. We're made for it, find it most easily in those short years as college students, then--when we've divided ourselves into subsets and small units-- spend most of the rest of our lives hoping to reproduce the community that came so easily when we lived it in our early twenties.
My sisters--They know me, I know them, we are different, we are the same.  Here's a moment that speaks volumes (at least to me).  RE and I, who traveled together, were just about to board our much delayed plane, when the Dump and her younger son walked past, just getting to the airport for their later flight south.  We called to them, so they came over for another round of hugs before we separated again.  As we walked off, Dump yelled, "See you in June" (when RE's middle daughter gets married).  Without thinking, I hollered back, "Unless Mom dies first."  "Yeah," she said. "If only."  Then we turned and walked our separate directions.  As I sat in my seat, I thought of how we all got it--what I was saying, what the Dump answered.  Why it wasn't mean, or rude or anything else. We live inside our lives together.  We know.  We know in ways that only siblings can know, more than spouses, more than offspring, there are somethings only siblings get.  And somethings, only sisters.  And I'm glad I have mine.   No matter what, I'm glad I have mine.

No comments: