While no one can truly love their wrinkles, infirmities and seemingly endless doctor visits… the distance age provides can be healing. I’d rather be young and firm, but peace that comes from understanding is its own reward.

To wit:

I left my horse on the farm with mom when I moved out. A few months later she’d sold the horse and all the tack.

‘Rage’ is too calm a word for the feeling I nurtured for most of my adult life. The newer saddle had taken me months of saving to buy! And my horse! (The one I hadn’t even been back to visit because I was too busy.)

What did I expect?? This old woman with rheumatoid arthritis was supposed to toddle across the pasture to the barn to feed and water the horse? Well, no feed in the summer.

She did what she had to do, what she’d done every time I looked away from some possession. Sell it or give it away. Birthday and Christmas gifts came with the understanding that I lose it and everything else if she wanted.

So I grew up not prizing things. They’re temporary. Easily taken away. I prefer a small amount of possessions, just enough to fill the smallest UHaul. A stark contrast to my hoarder husband.

Anyhoo, I forgave my mom and I hope she forgives me for being a shit about everything. Wherever she might be…

Haven’t I written about a light in the window before? There’s something about it that warms; makes me feel all is right and good. So much pressure to put on a 20 watt, amiright?

The semi-obsession started when my father herded us into the station wagon before dawn one morning. I was still years too young for high school so didn’t know what was going on; only to obey.

We were headed to Bedias, about 100 miles north of Houston. For much of the drive we took I45 which is now about 20 lanes each way… but back then we were the only car on the two-lane thoroughfare, a country road with nothing but trees on either side. Houston hadn’t become a megalopolis yet, swallowing everything it could reach.

I saw the place as we meandered down the private dirt road to the farmhouse. The sun was rising and there were no trees for miles, just an elderly two story wood house. And a light in a window, emanating an invitation. It was so charming.

Later I discovered the lamp in the kitchen window; a huge kitchen – old but warm and comfortable with high ceilings complete with table and chairs. It had to be the center of the house. You could feel the thousands of meals families had shared, laughing and talking. I loved it completely.

Since then I keep a light in the window. It reminds me of simpler times and people, of a time when I45 was no more than a country lane.

…if you feel there is something left unsaid, there is… i just don’t know how to say it.