Just about on the Road

My bags are packed, and I'm about ready to head over to Mom's and go to church, the First United Methodist Church in Moscow. This, of course, floods my mind with childhood images of extremely tall grownups and me dodging a forest of adult legs while being a holy terror at coffee hour in Epworth Hall.

What a difference fifty years makes. The grownups are no longer tall. The ones I knew then are now bent over with age, and crowned with gray and white. During the part of the service where the congregants express thanks, my Mom will introduce me, and carry on over me for a bit. I'll feel like a kid again, slightly embarrassed, but more bemused, grateful for this moment of connection with my roots.

Most of the people I knew from church are gone, out to the cemetery that used to be way out on the east side of town. Moscow has now grown up around the cemetery, a place where my father, mother, and brother now live, without a care in the world.

Yesterday evening, Katherine and Karen came over to say goodbye, and Katherine showed me the watercolor that had she painted for me. It's a gorgeous picture of Moscow Mountain from out near the cemetery on the east side of town.

Yesterday's ham will make a couple of really great tasting sandwiches today for the road. I reserved a room for Grace and me in Seattle. I think we're all set to declare this vacation pretty much over.