Yes, I should be packing (and I don't mean a pistol), but there are just so many other things a girl can do of a Friday night, ya know?
I see that my rifle-toting Vermont cousin has started her own blog, entitled Where Am I and What Am I Doing? Great title, no? She shared a photo of a cemetery in Wardsboro, where some of our ancestors have been resting comfortably for more than a century. The photo and her post in general reminded me of the many fine conversations we've shared in the nearly three years we've spent getting (re)acquainted, and the spirit of openness and compassion that exists between us.
As I, um, mature, I've come to realize how important it is to let the past simply mutate into whatever it will be, now. We keep telling the stories, of course, but their significance exists somewhere between our memories and this very moment. Only we can decide where to stop along the way; what to notice, whether to smile wistfully at human folly or turn away from it. Even so, the stories don't mean anything without the people who populate them.
I think I am going to be the revisionist of my own life, and my life only, going forward.
