Tugs

The chill drizzle outside the motel window feels like an ideal meditation aide for my current contemplations of "Home." Home remains a vague concept to my wandering nature, but the bonds of family are undeniable to my senses. They are bonds which tie, even after death. Even through estrangement. I canae describe the impact of family bonds on my senses any more than I can describe the taste of a strawberry, but the limited power of words doesnae limit the power of my senses.

I miss the grandkids. They are young enough that a month is long enough for substantial change and the discovery of many, many joys. I feel hopes of resolution with Hubs but still fear returning to his Some Day shelf where I will be comfortable enough to carry on with assumed duties that are both counter-productive and ungratifying. The middle-aged sons and their partners are still as confusing in their mysteries as any middle-aged people I have known. Their mysteries arenae mine to sort.

This is day 2 of my rest and reflection week. Pondering gently. . .