In fairly short order once my job was established, the children and I moved into a tiny house not far from where my parents lived, so the after school scenario could continue. That fall Josh started second grade and Jane her fifth. No one discussed the future. Everyone plowed ahead doing what they did best - my grandfather had his 98th birthday surrounded by dozens of us, my mother and father's hair turned white, the children completed their year of school, and I slid further toward the summer of my 37th year.One of my favorite memories of those Oregon summers is that we would go as a family - my parents, the children, and I - to the sea, the patchwork of sand and sky and rocks and chowder and raw wind like a stiff blow to the soul, standing it upright. A few years ago I recreated for myself this old mirage by bringing my grown children, grandchildren, and significant others for a weekend of homage - to brief escape, to the magic of the ions in the ocean spray. I wish it could have started a similar tradition but it seems unlikely.
Next page |