A sense of balance

It is amazing to me how I slip into familiar patterns with such ease. In my mother's house, the house I moved into when I was four years old, I know where everything is, I know what night is garbage collection night. It is like a comfortable robe of history, wrapped around the seminal events of my young life, my middle life, and now, my older life.

I remember planting the olive tree with my mother and father when it was just a 12 inch stick--now it soars into the sky, as high as the power lines. I remember building the rock retaining walls with my dad, handing him the stones as he set them into the mortar.

I remember the long summer evenings, playing in the cul-de-sac with all the kids in the circle. Our only restraint was that we had to go home for dinner when the street lights came on. Walking to school with my brother, walking home for lunch, walking to the store on Saturdays to spend our allowances on penny candy at the drugstore.

Every part of this place is suffused with good memories. I labored in this house to bring my darling Juli into the world. My husband and I lived here for the first four months of her life. Family and friends now gone meet me in every corner of this place.

And now, to spend time with my brother and mother here, is a precious gift. I am savoring every moment.