Meeting the Past

The weekend was spent on a bittersweet road trip. We went to the little mountain town where the Phenom grew up. We stayed in a rather nice hotel, shopped, and the big event was attending the Phenom's high school reunion.

On Friday, I decided that I needed to drive. One, because I wanted more time in my new car. Two, because I thought the Phenom might want to drink mass quantities of alcohol and I should be able to drive us back to our hotel.

We arrived in decent time on Friday. Ate at one of my favorite places in that little town. Then, went and picked up beer and treats for the room. The hotel had a kitchenette and was really quite comfy.

Saturday, early, I met an old friend of mine who recently moved to this little town. I'd never meet her husband or children, so it was a treat to see the whole family. It was fun to remember the old days - but also see how different and yet similar our lives are now.

I got to "stimulate the local economy" after meeting my friend. I bought a local cookbook. I bought some bright red wool which may be made into a rather dramatic cape. The Phenom also bought me a trinket. I do love shiney things.

The reunion was interesting. Everyone seemed happy to see each other and have the brief, superficial conversations to catch up. There was the expected marveling over the aging process. There was sadness over those who couldn't come back. And, there was no bar.

It was interesting to not be the center of attention. I am a rather attention loving monkey. It was interesting to spend an evening just being the sidekick.

The next day, we drove out to the place where the Phenom's family is buried. We put flowers on the graves of the Phenom's parents. We stood silently over the Phenom's grandparents. Next to the grandparents is the headstone of a young brother and sister buried together. The head stone reads "cindy hold quinn, and god holds them both." Cindy would be a few months younger than the Phenom. Before she graduated from high school, a truck pulled out in front of the car she was driving - killing both her and her younger brother. On the other side of the head stone are the names and birthdates of the parents. It must be a tremendous weight on your heart to spend your life waiting to die, waiting to be reunited with your children.

There is something therapeutic about act of clearing off weeds and grass from a grave. The weight of death requires a distraction. The past needs to be tempered with the everyday.