The path homeward

It’s a day to for gratitude

Beneath the clear sky there was a low-lying stratum of blue mist lingering among the buildings of Milwaukee when we flew in early last evening. The trees had leafed out more fully over the past three days, and the sun was shining on blue waters. It was a relief after three days of unrelenting gray at the beach.

In the end, we did actually set eyes on the water as we drove off. The rain had stopped, and we could see a family with children and dogs tentatively making their way through the gloom to the shore. We had too much time before our flight, and the prospect of hours sitting in DCA’s claustrophobic Terminal 1 sounded miserable, so we took a detour to a beach town further up Maryland’s jagged coastline, and I was persuaded to venture onto the boardwalk for the first real exercise of the weekend.

It was good to breathe fresh air and ogle the beach houses, talking idly. There is a tradition in the community to purchase memorial benches along the pier, and it is a long path of human love and sorrow. After stopping before so many tragically short life stories, my husband finally told me to stop reading them, but he, too, was struck by the children, the sisters, the victim of the 9/11 attack on the Pentagon nicknamed “Elvis,” and a bronze statue of a Labrador retriever, whose nose had been made shiny by so many affectionate rubs. It was sad, but it made us thankful, too: to recognize how fortunate we are to still be here, and we went off to the airport chatting about our summer, and excited to be going home.

I amused myself on the flight by reading one of my own novels for the first time in quite a while. But I put it down when the skies began to clear as we crossed over Michigan, and I could feel the shift in the engines as we approached the lake and began our descent. It takes about 17 minutes to cross Lake Michigan on a commercial jet, and this is always my favorite part of the trip, leaning against the window to watch for the first glimpse of coastline. I love watching the textures of the water shifting, and it’s particularly beautiful when the sun is rising or setting.

We received heroic welcomes from Auggie and Eli, with lots of kisses and leg-rubbings. We all sat outside by the fire, listening to music before we went in to bed, tired, grateful, and happy to be home.

On this Memorial Day, we carry our indebtedness in our hearts.

***

”And all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”~Julian of Norwich

These posts are about finding the beauty in daily life, even amid the craziness, uncertainty, and anxiety. Reality is not going away, but these are the only days we get, so we have to relish their small beauties while we have them. If you are a paid subscriber, please know how deeply grateful I am for your support. The kindness and enthusiasm of your comments buoy me and keep me writing, but the paid subscriptions are an extra vote of confidence I truly appreciate. Thank you for that.

And now for your gratuitous dog and garden photos:

My spring garden is almost entirely purple. It happened by accident at first, but now it’s intentional. The allium all began blooming while we were gone.