December 29, 2015, Phoenix- The period just passed, from Christmas until Transit Day (yesterday), saw either sporadic WiFi connection, or time when being on the Internet would have been just plain rude. As it was, my non-technological mother saw any time spent on the computer as an imposition, even when I was sharing what I found with the group.
Few are in a place of honour, when among those who knew them when. I was delighted to have felt welcome, when I visited with a couple of friends from my late teen/young adult years, and the three of us were actually having intelligent, respectful conversation- free of the oneupmanship that seemed so prevalent back then. Now, we are all mid-sexagenarians and have a grander view.
Mom was not feeling all that great, but kept a game face the whole time I was in Saugus. I know better, though, and I also know that her current aches and pains will subside. Andrew Wyeth remarked, on his own father’s passing, “It took a freight train to kill N.C. Wyeth!”. It’ll take a lot more than that to bring down my mother.
The siblings will always be my treasured core group. I spent time as the bete-noire, in my twenties, and it was largely deserved. Now, each of us has our niche and when we get together, we have genuine nuggets to share. This was my sister’s year to break out- to see the Mountain Northwest: Montana and Wyoming. Her list of travel goals is also growing, and I hope she gets to a few more, in the years immediately ahead.
One of my seatmates, on the plane back, recommended a book entitled “The Third Target”, by Joel C. Rosenberg. She was looking at the piece as if it were non-fiction, much the way some of us interpreted Tom Clancy novels, in the ’90’s. Indeed, many fictional works are vehicles for disseminating information that would otherwise be “classified”.
I got a lot read of “The Witches: Salem, 1692”, that is a nonfictional study of the events, and backdrop, of the Salem Witch Trials. Kids were unruly back then, also, and, wonder of wonders, because they were roundly ignored by parents who were pre-occupied with the day-to-day grind of an oppressive life. That teenaged girls and young women would react to being treated as chattel, by staging near-psychotic flash mob attacks on the reputations of their elders, somehow comes as no surprise. Children have been my life, for nearly forty years. The more neglected they have seemed, in their larger lives, the more I have sought to understand them and be of value.
Now, I am back in what has come to be Home Base. My coming to Arizona, initially, was rather random and happenstance. As with any such move by a rootless youth, it morphed into a place of growth. I am still growing, and my octogenarian mother is till lucid enough to tell me that I’ve seen nothing yet. The “Greatest Generation” will never concede to their Baby Boomer children, or anyone else, the place of the pioneer.
I look forward to the rest of this decade, and to my seventies, eighties and whatever else the Good Lord deigns to offer. As the great Dick Van Dyke writes: “Keep Moving”. (I’m reading that book now, also).