on going back . . .

It's been an extraordinary weekend here in the cave. The 9TS is in Massachusetts at a karate tournament he signed up for before he became . . . well, the 9TS. I have no one to pick on . . . a very strange feeling. I've been rumbling around picking up this, rearranging that, cleaning here and there. Truth be told, I miss him terribly.

I figured with him away, I would have plenty of time to work on the writing class I am taking. When I first looked at the course, I was uncertain if it was really for me. I mean, look at me. I write all the time. I can't keep my mouth shut or my pen still. I spill my guts and plaster it all over the net. I am queen of too much information.

But because of the ‘sparks’ from the class, I have reconnected with my old friend Sara (AKA Baby Sally/Binker). Emails have been shooting back and forth like lightening. I've laughed and I've cried. It's been very cathartic. Its one thing to go back 40+ years and remember, but it's totally another to make that trip with someone who was there with you holding your hand. 1970 was a different era, a different way of life . . . A clean slate begging to be written on . . an age of experimentation. And experiment I did. I had grand company: Sally, who by her own recall, slept through those years but yes, our memories do not always converge. She was our creative soul . . . writing, illustrating, inhaling life on her terms and Cyndee, our old soul, seeking her place. She was my companion, my partner in our struggles to become who we were about to be . . Hig was my very own Peter Pan. He opened doors to things a kid from a glass cage could only stand in awe of. The stories just well up, they trigger themselves in salvos. They double up and swirl back like smoke over a campfire. They engulf my soul. I feel the energy that was then. I am amazed and floored and shaken.