We’re on a train traveling through North Dakota, somewhere
between Grand Forks and Devil’s Lake – watching the sun on the sandstone hills,
on the eternal prairie, ranch and farm, on the horses, and on the paint peeling
off clapboard. Chill penetrates the window - snow is ahead of us in Montana, I hear.
With a chirp, my laptop reminds me of our meeting this afternoon in Dar Es Salaam, and I realize how long it's been since I shared with it what was going on.
I never updated it with all of the changes in our
plans – scheduling surgery, cancelling the work trip to Africa, booking the
train to visit mom and dad, suffering the shift of expectations, slowing down
and getting grounded, living with the unanswered questions that require our
time. I think - I should change my calendar. But what can I tell it?
Maybe it's better to let it go - with my
smart phone and Google account and Apple ID – go on without me, living that
planned life from which I’ve been forced to diverge.
Yes - I’ll keep to this other path alone where I can only take
what comes, only do what’s in front of me, only wait. I’ll check in now and
then to see where my laptop thinks we are and find out how that other life is
going. A clean break is best for both of us, I think. It doesn’t even need
to know I’m gone.
I’ll close its notification about our plans in Tanzania and
go back to counting how many colors are in North Dakota’s grass and sky.
by Lori Martin, 11/6/15
by Lori Martin, 11/6/15
