Remembering when ...

Memories from 2015, previously sent as a cyber letter.

***

Ah my dear,
   Sometimes I want so much to see your face, kiss your cheek, hug your neck, breathe in the smell of another human, I could weep with longing. But really, what would that accomplish? - Naught but red puffy eyes and clogged sinus passages. Who needs that?
   On a recent visit to see Dad, I marveled, both at how much and how little the place had changed during the six decades of my memory. Landscape has been altered vastly over the years, as has the layout of the structure itself. Dad built the stairways to upstairs, which used to be just attic space, and to basement. Latter included a removable bottom step, which impeded toddler escape. When I was a child, the front yard had raspberry briars, where my grandmother would leave hair taken from her brush, that birds might use in building their nests. There was a hickory tree that yielded hard little nuts for us to eat, after we had exerted ourselves, breaking their shells. Decades ago, tons of earth had been moved, to create outside access to the basement. My younger siblings are now the only ones who can navigate the steps to either basement or upstairs floor; Dad has not been off ground level in years.
   That is not uncommon. Years ago, while married to a quadriplegic, I realized the obstacle stairs pose to navigability. Seeing churches designed with great flights of steps, because up represented "closeness to God," make me sad [and maybe a tad angry] to think of those denied access. Anymore, I spend a lot of time thinking about "privilege," and how to make life better for more people.
   After spending a couple hours with Dad, talking during muted commercials of whatever *How Do They Do That?* program one of the science channels offered, I got ready to leave. Outside, spent a few minutes visiting with Sister. She spoke of facilitating a butterfly hatching. A Monarch cocoon had been attached to the house, but was in partial shade. She realized it would not get warm enough long enough, for butterfly to emerge. So she bent some metal, creating reflectors; that did the trick. Then she used a bunch of clover to entice it off the house, and carried it to a patch of milkweed. Not everyone has a sister who is a butterfly midwife.
   Confessed to sometimes feeling bad that I am not more in tune with family dynamic. She gently shook her head and told me not to worry about it. We spoke of aging not being the *horror* some perceive it to be, and I told her how it seems life rewards me for being grateful. We made mention of Pontiff's visit to United States and his admonition that comfort is the enemy. We share this belief: it is excessive comfort that is humanity's downfall. People cannot be content with a mere sufficiency - they feel compelled to demand more. It is that primary evil, Greed, rearing its ugly head. Greed will be the death of us, and when humans finally destroy themselves, Earth can heal.

Alright my darling, know that I miss you and love you and will soon write again,
Jo