Drifting

Lately my mind drifts to the seventies quite often. Grade school. Book bags. My mom at home. When I think of her, the memories of those days are strong.

I'm a child. I am happy in my introverted way. I read, sit under a desk and hum or write poems and songs in my head. Out in the world, I am sometimes overwhelmed with self-consciousness.

But at home I am calm. I love the rhythm of life in our little house. Sharing a room with two brothers. One bathroom for five of us. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes are on the table at least once a week. Television and music are our usual pastimes.

There is church. Northwest Christian. My best friend, Joyce, a sweet soul to this day. Camp at Little Galilee Christian Assembly in Clinton, Illinois in the summer. Kumbaya by the campfire.

There is also metaphysics. Many Mansions by Gina Cerminella. There is a River, the story of Edgar Cayce. I read them both in fourth grade.

I lie in the grass in the summer and look at clouds. I swim in a backyard pool with my good friend, Judy. We eat fresh blackberries from a bush near Garman Park on our way to lazy afternoons doing crafts at the big cement tables.

I'm drifting. My mind, my heart and my spirit.