Good morning, all. I spent a good deal of this weekend mourning my friend Rusty. Eric and I parked at my late parents home (two houses away from Rustys mother) during the reception. We were both surrounded by old friends that whole day and so the sting of leaving them was great. And standing in front of my father and mothers house, I finally cried all the tears that the week had held back. I do love Cave Spring and the friends who mean so much to me here. Some of them I enjoy sparring with here on Facebook. But even for a 62 year old woman, I have to say that the pull of roots..the pull of those who have always known me and my people--is very strong. In a sense, we each carry our homes with us. Inside us. And those homes are the people, living and sleeping, we love the most. But sometimes it is almost unbearable. Pat Dooley held me and said, I hope you know how much you are loved..and I hope you are as loved in your new home as you are here. What a dear, thoughtful thing to say. But can we ever be loved again like we were when we had wonder in our eyes and so much hope in our hearts? The more important question is not how much we are loved -- but how much we can love. Every day we should, and I should, look upon Cave Spring with wonder in my eyes and hope in my heart. And I should never let anything change that. Naive and child-like, yes. But hope and wonder and commitment and love are the essence of change. So I recommit to my new home and give it my heart once again. A gift for Rusty.
Posted on: Tue, 02 Sep 2014 15:34:20 +0000
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