I've been up since 1:30, having fallen asleep at 6:30 yesterday after dinner. A 10+hour flight and 9-hour time difference will do that to you. Tried to go back to bed at 4, but gave up the attempt after an hour. I've got a mystery novel to read but I'm a bit too scattered to settle into it. Thinking about transitions, as I get ready to spend a couple of days in the city, visiting the "kids" and grandkids before heading back to the island.
I'm going to think more about this before I post more extensively on it, but these plane-window photos signal something of the enormity of the gaps--abysses, even-- that get elided or collapsed or mental-papered-over with many of our life transitions. Yesterday we were in Paris with its foundational tones of stone and today we live between deep forest green and oceans of blue and grey. In between were these monumental scenes framed by a small window that formed a barrier between a relatively comfortable environment (yes, too dry, too cramped, a bit too human-smelly, but warm enough and the oxygen was adequate) and the certain death of 70 below!
Strangeness we scarcely pause at anymore. But dissonant, surely, at some deep, inchoate place inside us. So I'm pondering. And catching up on the 240 posts that have piled up in my feed. And drinking my favourite tea with my Squirrelly bread toast (with just the right amount of butter and honey). I'll shower without having to remember anything about the taps. I'll pick my granddaughter up from preschool and take the bus with her. Hug her mom, cuddle her little brother. I'll have a long afternoon nap with a pillow I won't even notice, it's so right for me. 'Cause we don't so often, do we, notice all those beautiful, steady, small grace notes that have become "just right" through daily burnishing over many years.