Prairie Winds

Prairie Winds are far more common than prairie fogs. The old house in which I am currently doing my morning meditations across the cattle grazing the gently rolling hills was built long before the advent of air conditioning. It is far more possible to die of heat stroke than freezing to death here. The house was designed to catch every cooling breeze which rolls through the neighborhood. A life-saver during the brutal summers, but not such a good thing on the few days of the year when the winds carry an icy bite. The moderately cold winds of this morning are providing an eerie soundtrack as they pry at the windows and cracks of the modest, unloved 100 year old house.

The plans to pick up GD this weekend were doing the usual 6 grown-up fissuring as the week progressed. I by-passed the other grown-ups in the equation and placed a call directly to the patriach at the other grand-parent house. The other grandparent family is a --dare I say stereo-typical?-- blend of old Colonial Spanish customs and contemporary U.S. welfare logic. Daddy takes charge of everything, whether he is doing or even aware of the work, or not. Yea, I'll let you see the grandkids, for a price. . . Give me child sex trafficking flashbacks, why doncha? I bet you would have loved my Daddy. Plying therapy tools to separate the trigger from the trauma. . . Giving myself some positive affirmation that I reacted to the man instead of the flashbacks.

He denied the rumors that the family is struggling with the responsibility of caring for both children. Instead of scheduling GD's pick-up, I made arrangements to pick up both children for the week GS is off from school for Thanksgiving. Onward through the fog. I am grateful the children were not aware of this grown-up planning. I hate breaking promises to children. I'm still afraid to get the children excited about Thanksgiving week. Predicting the family grown-ups is not easy enough to allow for confidence in any of the shared planning. Prayers in progress.

This morning finds me nurturing the element of relief that I get to stay focused on the transition of the 1940s dairy barn to 21st century honey barn. I wonder how the winds sound across the new windows? How sweet it is to have a question whose answer is within easy reach.