Last week, work was simply too much. There were too many staff out, too many deadlines looming, too many things to do RIGHT NOW.
When I got home just a little after 5:00 PM, my Personal Chef had the car packed, the dog fed, and was pulling a burger off the grill for me. Before 6:00 PM we were on the road, and by 8:30 PM we were sitting in my parents livingroom, eating ice cream bars.
And it was good.
Saturday was a perfect New England day. The weather was gorgeous–sunny, warm, a light breeze. The lake was calm. The mountains were green and inviting.
After a leisurely morning of coffee and catching up with my parents, we went for a walk to the marina. I watched the World’s Worst Western with my Mama (but it was BEAUTIFULLY filmed). While mocking the film, my Mama and I chatted about the multiple generations of our family–the good, the quirky, the rough around the edges–and settled on satisfaction that we are so rich in love.
This was something of a revelation to me, as over the years I have focused too much energy, time and attention on all the things I believed were wrong with my clan.
So, it was resting in this newfound knowledge that my people love me and I love them that the next morning, I was up with the birds to make the trek to visit with my husband’s parents.
They live a state away in mid-coast Maine. If you’ve never traveled through there, know that there is no highway that travels east-west across Maine. So, we had to wind through small towns and farmland and mountains for hours.
Along the way, we saw first a bald eagle take flight, then we saw a bear amble across the road in front of us.
It was glorious.
My in-laws are in their 90s. They still live in their own home, on the bank of a river, on a wooded lot filled with wild raspberries. My husband, too, has had many years of wrestling with his own family trauma and troubles. He, too, has come to a place where he just loves and is loved back.
After taking his folks to lunch, we drove for more hours to our daughter and son-in-law’s home to visit with them and the Best Grandsons Ever. To our delight, our youngest son was also there visiting.
About four hundred miles and four generations of our people in two days. It was an excessive amount of time in the car. It was worth every mile.
Sick Pilgrim 