There we were, newly married.
Young, inexperienced, traveling to another country for our honeymoon.
Mexico City, Taxco, and Acapulco.
One week away before returning home to a small apartment in the place of Amish buggies.

I remember how strange it felt to sign my new name.
I remember how I twirled my rings, now two of them, around the finger of my left hand.
I remember how I loved to say, “My husband” every chance I got.
I remember thinking that there is another person to think about now.

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Summer is the season of vacations.
During the months of June, July, and August families leave the routine for the different.
Destinations vary according to preference and age of children.
Planning usually happens after the New Year to make sure accommodations are reserved.

Usually.

Growing up, we never took vacations.
I only remember one vacation to Williamsburg when I was about eight years old.
Consequently, I am not the traveler now; I am more of a homebody, if truth be told.
We did try a few times to go away, but the results were disastrous.

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When I graduated college, I purchased a college ring.
It was not your ordinary school ring.
It was a gold rose.
It was a beautiful ring, stylish, feminine, without a trace of the school anywhere.

No writing.
No name.
No symbols.
Just the significance in the rose itself.

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When I was a little girl, a trip into the city was truly an excursion.
Not much grass, not much sky, so many people, so many pigeons.
Walking over the metal grates on the sidewalk was always a bit scary for me.

What if I dropped something down the grate?
Why did it smell funny below the city streets?
Why did warm air come out of the grates even on the hottest days?

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This is the time of year you see them on the road.
U-haul trucks.
It might be moving college students back home.
It might be moving new graduates to their next location.

Moving day.
Depending on which direction you are going, it is either happy or a bit sad.
It is humbling to see most of your belongings in boxes.
It is amazing to see a lifetime of accumulated things, up to that point, inside a truck.

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Thomas Wolfe wrote a book that was published in 1940, after his death.
It is entitled, You Can Never Go Home Again.
He wrote about his own hometown.
Even though the book was a success, the town was angry because of Wolfe’s distorted view.

I thought of the title of that book many times in my life.

I went to Atlanta a few times while in college to visit my soon-to-be husband.
Each year I attended his formal and even went down once for homecoming.
Before traveling home on one trip, a group of us decided to go out to lunch.
A restaurant was chosen and many tables were put together to accommodate us.

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There they sat, huddled close together in the back of church.
They shared a lifetime of love; a marriage with children and grandchildren.
She locked her arm in his and laid her head on his chest.
There she found such warmth, such protection, and such security.

She seemed like a little girl despite her eighty-six years.
Her memory was tainted by the cruelty of Alzheimer’s, but she remembered him.
That kind of love transcends disease; that kind of love holds on.
She rests in the embrace that says, you are known and I love you.

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Our son came home for a surprise overnight visit from college.
A surprise visit is the best kind of visit.
Not expected but always welcome.

He was home in time for dinner and we were having something he loves.
I smiled at the ease of his return.
Only a son could come into our home that way.

First the hug, the genuine, I’m so glad to see you, hug.
Then the place to put his shoes, his jacket, and his backpack.
A run upstairs to see his sister and her excitement that he is home.

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I heard Stairway To Heaven today and it made me smile.
It wasn’t the song itself that made me smile.
It was the music wars that ensued years ago.

My husband interviewed for jobs before we were married.
He traveled all over the country interviewing for an engineering position.
He chose a company that was in Pennsylvania.
He wanted us to remain close to all that was familiar.

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It was a wonderful weekend getaway with my husband.
This was the weekend of the big football game.
My husband’s alma mater against my son’s law school.

My husband’s school won the football game.
Though fumbles and turnovers should have drastically changed the outcome.
That is a discussion for another time.

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