After a long 2 1/2 weeks on the road, I was so excited to come home for many different reasons. One of them was the thought of sleeping in my own bed, in my own bedroom, in the quiet darkness. This was especially appealing after one night in particular in the last available hotel room in West Yellowstone, where we fit yes six adults. Much to my chagrin, after arriving home late last Thursday night, I realized my plans had been foiled due to yet another flooding mishap. I was warmly welcomed, however, to all her sweet credit, to the floor of dear Jessica.
As I lay there, trying to be brave but feeling rather miserable, the famous words of my grandfather came to my mind: "Rise above it." Bless his heart--over the past few days I've needed that phrase over and over again. The extreme heat and humidity, the burden of judging a whole bunch of National History day websites on the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Versaille Treaty, And I've tried and tried to put a smile on my face and move on amidst the strangeness that has become my life. I've learned to go to my center peace place.
But this morning as I realized yet another flood in my bathroom and bedroom--this one much more pungent and dirty than any in the past three weeks--I just didn't know if I could do it. Needless to say, my inner peace seems to have shattered and a couple of weeks of not very good sleep have taken their toll. Not much rise left in me.
The best thing I could think of was to put things in order and buy a new bathmat--a beautiful cobalt blue, the softest these tired feet have felt in a long time. That and a chocolate milkshake put me in much better spirits. Then, as I got out of my car, when what to my tired, despondent eyes should appear, but the first firefly of the season.
That was all I needed--that little tiny glimmer of light. It is amazing how that spark has refueled me to rise above it. Here I come, Grandad! Bring it on...