One Last Time

     It has been a week of “One Last Time.” One last time to climb Silly Mountain with Gracie, one last trip to the dog park. One last time out to dinner with my dear friend Amy. One last cookout on the back patio in the shade of my grape vines. One last frozen yogurt at The Good Apple. One last time to trim the bougainvillea and water the trumpet vine. So bittersweet.

     Amy threw me a.going away party with a few close friends who have touched my life and, I’m proud to say, I have touched theirs. Normally I detest this sort of thing, but It was a lovely way to say goodbye to some very special people    
     Perhaps I smoked a bit too much weed in the 60’s, but my older son. . .well, let’s just say he marches to a different beat. A way different beat. He and his wife live in a trailer powered by a generator off a dirt road in Snowflake with chickens and cats and a dog named Black Jack. I’m not proud to say I’ve been very critical of his life style in the past.
     I sent an email to daughter-in-law letting her know my plans. She replied that the engine was blown in their car but if I got to their area, they would get a ride to meet up with me. The day before the man who was supposed to take my car regretfully declined. So I rented a car (I can't drive for eight hours without air conditioning) and drove to Snowflake to retrieve Andrew and Jennifer and a generator that needed repair, and transferred the car to them.
     Andrew looks older than his 40 years and I wonder if the strained relationship between us contributed. Well, I can’t undo the past. I know a 93 Buick doesn’t make up for how self-righteous I have been in the past, but part of this journey is about mending relationships and I hope this is a start.