X is not Y, and as time flows past with it’s currents I am ever more aware of that. The beautiful parts of life remain enjoyable when they’re allowed to live in their own thread rather than mingling with what’s in an adjacent current of events. Everything shares the world, but has it’s own space.

 

As my parents lay critically wounded in hospital beds I was up against my own clock, a flight to acknowledge new life in a place far away. Three of my daughters each had a babe in arms and two of them were in Texas, anxious that I meet their new sons. While a tragedy overshadowed the world my parents were at risk to unceremoniously exit, glorious things were happening elsewhere.

 

I left my parents to the excellent care of the ICU and hoped to see them in better shape when I returned a week later.  Mom continues her rocky road, but my dad gave up the ghost the day after my return.

We learn that everything has double meaning. The cloud obscures the sun, but provides the shade and the rain. The gloom of the overcast day is the joy of the mists to the garden.

 

Meanwhile, the sun that warms also burns. The light that we love is also the vehicle of drought. I’ve learned to appreciate the sun when it comes, and enjoy the so called gray skies also.

 

Two cities were home to me for the few days I visited the Lone Star state. 

Last time I saw this lad, he lived in Austin. Now relocated to Hutto, he has been joined by a delightful pup and a new brother.  He was in a swaddles and sick the prior visit, but now he’s fully mobile and full of fun.

 

As yet, he’s not particularly verbal but has his preferences. The house was full of toys and books and gadgets calculated to accomodate the whimsy and curiosity of a first born child. What I most enjoyed was to see the love and serious devotion of his mom. This despite the dark cloud of  challenges under which she carries the torch of honorable parentage.

 

His new brother, still swaddled all the time like a little burrito, smiled whenever he was awake.

 

They have a glorious dog to play with who walks timidly in the house then leaps like an antelope in play when released to the back yard. They call him Alamo.

 

Following the tradition of being shown the culture of Texas via their eateries, we went to an In And Out Burger place. It wasn’t necessarily Texasy, but they don’t exist where I’m from so now I know. After consuming the fries, I felt I’d done something decadent much as I do when I succumb to the consumption of a costco hotdog.

 

It all feels so right during the eating, and then the guilt sets in. But only after the last bite is safely in the vault.

 

While the boys slept at night, I watched the Winter Olympics with their folks. During the days, I enjoyed the company of my daughter and saw her admirable devotion to family and to decent living.

 

Next stop was further south, where the sky was gray but the culture was sunny.

The first order of business was to acknowledge the new man cub, then my daughter and I shot arrows from a compound bow into a willing hay bale.

 

As promised, I chipped an arrowhead out of Texas sorta-kinda-vitreous transluscent stone and mounted it properly in an “arrow” for the oldest lad, who between the last visit and this had become a lanky articulate back yard warrior. 

 

When he wasn’t busy with legos, or that marble path maker, he was at work with twine in the back yard.

 

His sister is all girl, and actually spoke this time. She’s happy to be doted on. I’m not sure if her favorite part of the visit was the long times when I pushed her on the swings, or the game we played with their oddly sized trampoline where I’d lift one end and shake it a few times to the sound of giggle and laughter.

 

The game was for me to slowly approach the trampoline as they jumped and then announced that I was going to shake them off of it.

She immediately lay down and her brother took his “I can survive this” stance as I raised and lowered a side of the tramp repeatedly.

 

Then I walked away to the middle of the yard and announced my approach and the whole process happened all over to the glee of the two urchins.

 

Laura watered the strawberry patch the old fashioned way.

 

The system my daughter and her husband have set up in their family works admirably well. Some times the children reminded me of little fuzzy ducklings following their mom as she directed them and kept peace and order in the home. It’s a happy place : )