Wednesday, February 25, 2009
You're my water, you're my wine...
Am home. Last night. Yesterday about five caught Marvin Window’s small corporate plane (our son works for them) down to Minneapolis. Stared out the window at the frozen lakes, hundreds, thousands of them as we flew low through the waning day. Post funeral. Post family. Post so many people and cups of Folgers. Post helping write thankyous for memorial gifts. Post staring out Mom’s living room windows across empty fields and pastures.
We drove home. Me talking nonstop. Like I was drugged, flying high. Telling everything that happened from the time he left on Friday morning. Couldn’t stop. Couldn’t edit.
How good is it to have someone who tolerates rough drafts? Or who brings you what you crave when you’re too tired to get it yourself?