Sometimes I don't know where I'm going until I arrive. At which point I look back and where I was headed is so impressively clear I wonder how I hadn't noticed it earlier. Not so much a passive stumble through life as a permissive glide across time. I allow the winds to blow me about as I take my chances and look for cracks through which I may slip into Earthly opportunity. Now I am here. Married. With four children, a dog, 3 cats, 7 hens, a duck and two pigs, thus far. But who's counting?
I've always loved old buildings. Encircled by history, I feel at peace. I step through ages of life that spoke and sang and cried. They rejoiced together and mourned together and sat silent and felt alone. They disappeared. We are left to speculate as we sift through their remnants. Eventually, we will disappear.
I cannot throw this away.
I am not confused for a carpenter nor a mechanic nor a farmer and yet, here I sit, with chores from each of these disciplines awaiting my attention. Though, somehow, this is different from my other ventures into the realms of the unfamiliar. Our days are slowly developing into a rhythm of daily life that combines an ongoing set of chores with a pace that allows us to stop. To watch it unfold. To walk a bit slower.
Amanda and I sit up late sometimes and talk about our children. Usually, at least one of them is in a state of transition that requires a change in parental strategy. Often it takes a few attempts and a bit of time for things to shift. Occasionally, it is the adults who are in need of change. I don't feel lucky.
I feel blessed.