It has been raining daily. Rain is the norm for January. Little piles of leaves, raked by my neighbors, locate the drain at the end of the drive. Neighbors do this without being asked and because it is the right thing to do. We say hi or how are you when we see each other. That’s the sum of our conversation, but we share the extra apples on the tree in July, and gift them zucchini in late summer and they politely take some and say thank you. It’s what neighbors do.

And now it is January, two steps into winter and a confusion of senses. Crocus begin to break ground, green spikes of hope for Spring followed by purple blooms that might blossom in snow. The rain is still cold. The days grow longer. A complex paradigm of give and take.

We are going to the coast in a week, and I feel like it is the first time. A cascade of minor changes in the past year has coalesced into a new norm and we play by different rules than we did a year ago. It’s like a song not quite remembered, the tune is there, but a few of the notes are different. For the first time in over a decade, we don’t have a dog. (She died at Christmas.) I can’t take a walk on the beach because of my oxygen and walker. Land walks need to be monitored for time of battery life they may take. I haul three oxygen related machines wherever I go. The same breathing issues keep me from holding my banjo for longer than 5 minutes. None of these are major issues, as long as I stay home. But I don’t want to stay at home. So, we’ve been making adaptations as we go. We found a new place for the walker in the car. I began carrying a folding cane and a pack for the oxygen…I can’t go far, but I can go some. We make incremental improvements and adjustments. We do what we can and discover ways to do more. It is not the easy, relaxed retirement of my imagination.

In all of this, Lydia is my rock. She encourages and cheers me. She accepts more than her share of our partnership. She does not complain.

We will begin packing tomorrow. We’re only going to be gone for 3 days, but packing is a more carefully thought out process than it once was. I can feel the urge for the road already. The details are different, but the fundamental process is the same.

“we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.” KEROUAC

The Road