She spoke again this morning: "Life is.... long." She is younger than I thought, miles of bad road in her eyes, on her skin. I tell her to stay out of the sun, like I haven't. Self preservation. Life is long. And so very short. A blip on the screen. I am who I am in this aging body. I am who I've always been. Betrayed by skin and gravity. Complicit in the eventual, the unavoidable, the ultimate grounding.
It is a beautiful day, cloudy, as I await the arrival of my new bicycle. We have been married 2 months today. We have 60 days.
Turmoil has subsided in my busy mind as I lean once again toward acceptance of my own process, my transition into an altered life. It is not what it used to be, and sometimes I think the pain comes from my attempts to restore equilibrium. What I forget is that equilibrium was killing me. I was suffocating in stasis. Treading shallow water. Now I may be in deep weeds, but they are my weeds, I recognize them now.
Home is home. Life, if long, is good. My son, unlike others I know, (like my nephew Mike and Asha's boy, John) is not heading off to Iraq to fight an unjust war. I watched the movie Cold Mountain, which was okay. My favorite line went something like this: "I'll bet God's sick of coming down on both sides of an argument." I don't know what God thinks, but that seemed possible. Of course, the notion that this is a religious war seems absurd. Its always reducible to economics.
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