I’ve pretty much been absent from cyberspace for the past week. I’ve also been absent from most of my normal routine activities. And for good reason.
Grace and her way-too-adorable boyfriend, Curtis, left paradise (i.e., summer in Seattle) and spent the first week of August with us here in boiling East Texas (motto: “Let’s sweat till we melt into a puddle.”) I set everything else aside to soak up as much of them as possible. On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being ultimate perfection, I’d rank our time with them at about 37. Wonderful conversation. Good food. Beautiful music. And a long, winding meander down Memory Lane.
Curtis had expressed interest in visiting places connected with Grace’s history, so we spent much of the first day driving around Dallas with my parents. We swung by their childhood homes and their first apartment as newlyweds in Oak Cliff. We passed their old schools and the country club where my dad worked as a lifeguard. Every location prompted stories, some I’d heard and some I hadn’t.
We spent another day with my sister’s family in Nacogdoches, where Grace was born. Everywhere we went, family members wanted to hear Curtis and Grace sing, so I got to enjoy their beautiful music over and over. I can’t begin to describe the wonders of his guitar playing and the blending of their voices. Wowsers.
At Curtis’s request we dug out old cassette tapes of original music George and I wrote and recorded almost three decades ago. I’d forgotten about some of it, and thoroughly enjoyed the rediscovery.
He also wanted to hear our life stories, how we became who we are, what we believe and the journeys we took to get there. His sincere interest and candid questions encouraged hours of open-hearted honesty and reflection. It was amazing.
The week went way too fast. And yet, even though I miss them, I can’t stop smiling. I’ve wandered down Memory Lane, and my heart is full with the meaningfulness of life’s little moments–how they all add up to a history inhabited by the people who make it matter. Golden nuggets ignored for years, dusted off and gleaming in the sun, admired and then returned to the path to be found again the next time we pass this way.
Memory Lane is always under construction. After the past week mine is a bit longer. And, thanks to Curtis and Grace, it’s quite a bit more dear.