Michael can tell you the details of all the engines of all the cars he’s ever owned, and a good deal more. His 1961 Ford Econoline van, for instance, had a 144 cubic inch, in-line six cylinder engine. In 1986, Dodge had a set of choices about which engine you could buy, did I want to know about the V8 or another one? He never owned any model of any car made in 1986, by the way. Yet when I was grappling with one more lost memory yesterday--which girl was it who woke us one night when she was six or seven, frightened because “things were coming out” of her mouth, he wasn’t sure. We think it was Shea, though we’re not positive; both girls were pretty healthy as children and whichever one it was had never before thrown up and didn’t know what was going on. We’re going to have to rely on the girls to tell us, because I simply don’t know any more. We are pretty sure I would have before. Ok, so be it. For now, I’ve done as much assimilating losses as I can. It’s too beautiful here and the peace is spreading through my soul. Besides, there’s so much to be grateful for, I’m choosing gratitude and happiness. I’m not what I was and I can make this work. Will make it work.
And, did I mention? Words are coming out of my fingers. They’re not coming very fast, and they’re not very good. On the other hand, I have a first draft of a chapter and it’s probably, I think, I hope, good enough to edit and work with. It will likely be completely rewritten and restructured over time, and the final version will bear little resemblance to this one, if history is any guide, but it exists. It is the easy one of the planned set, which is also ok: picking the low-hanging fruit first is always the way to go, and I’m not too proud to start there. Kearney and Michael are my first readers, and I’m waiting for their verdict before going much further. Even so, this feels like a victory. Plus, being glum is boring, and it’s far too beautiful here to waste. Quiet reflection, ok. Assimilation, ok. The rest, though, for now, is banished.