I once told my Mom I didn't want to come here 'cause I didn't want to die here. A childlike fear it seems stemming from the fact so many people who lived here had died. The adult in me finally told myself that if we live long enough anywhere we're bound to die at some point so here I sit with two large tree limbs behind me on the ground. This time if they find me dead it won't be the at the hands of Kim but at the limbs of the tree I assure you. Somebody please build a hurricane wall 'cause though I'm inland at one point last night I thought dolphins were falling from the sky.
Mosh pits need to be located under metal roofs.
Priscilla is nesting, collecting twigs and leaves and feathers and gum wrappers and weaving them into an intricate pattern so that Marley or Jackson or not Mae Belle can find themself cozy and light through windows and sockets with plugs and cabinets with catches and she'll never ever ever never think of everything but she'll always be trying. So will Josh. Like Jason and Madalyn, good parents are always trying.
So are good daughters.
I left at age twenty-one. Double those years later and I am back still their child but now I am supposed to be an adult.
List of adult things to do.
- Sunday lunch at my place.
The third one will be this weekend but the first time my Dad will sit at the table in a room where both his grandmother and mother served Sunday lunches. Tons of pressure but the best kind.
Today I am grateful for history, for a sense of obligation to the memory of the women who came before me.