This Train

111If you were here tonight, you would smell it. It’s nasty. There is something dead in this house. It hits you when you come in the door.  That was for free. I just wanted you to feel like part of the family. After all, this book I’m writing is about how place forms you. And let me tell you, this smell will change your life. 🙂

Maile asked what we are going to do about it. I told her, “Hope it rots fast.” Don’t you love what you find yourself saying to your children? We can’t find the source; think it’s in the walls. She’s walking around spraying Lysol. She’s a take charge kind of girl. Oh, and she didn’t like my solution. I love that about her.

I came back from mountains and got right back on the fast train. I’m tired, but I’m glad for mountains to climb and trains to get back on. Sometimes I want to stop the train and get off and go home and crawl up and rest. But, I know I wouldn’t really stop it. These daughters are moving on this train too. And this graduate school is almost over. And this curriculum ain’t gonna write itself.  So, quit crying about it and get busy, right?

It’s just that sometimes you might pull up a chair in the corner of your life, turn it around and sit down and observe. It’s a fascinating view watching all those balls in the air, all those aims and dreams and goals and tasks, and sometimes it’s just nice to watch. My tears fall and I see my dad getting older. I see all that we’ve accomplished this year. I see the beautiful transformation of my daughters from children to young women. I see this book floating around in my head trying to find a chance…some sort of negotiation to get out on the pages that aren’t yet. I see all these other ideas waiting to bleed chalk onto my fingers to make it to that blackboard. I see the rest of the family doing their thing, and no one is getting younger but we are so good at being young. And no one I know is good at getting old. And I kinda want to stay in this corner on this chair with my chin on my folded arms. It’s not a bad place to be. And I’m so thankful for this corner and for what I’ve seen.

But, I don’t. I lift my head. I say my prayer of thanks be to God for mountains, girls, words, brothers, sisters, goals, dads, and deep, deep love and connection. I stand, turn the chair back around, and I start running to jump the train. That chair will be waiting when I need to step off the train for a moment again.

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2 thoughts on “This Train

  1. Pingback: Keeping It Real | alwayssimplybegin

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