By Rachel, on July 24, 2009

Nashville, Tennessee


“Not a Day Without a Line”

An old friend once quoted this to me when I was festering in a funk and convinced there was no point in putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard.

I’ve tried to put it into effect many times with seemingly consistent failed results. Half filled journals both paper and electronic stare dolefully out of boxes or shiver in a hard drive .

In any case-today I attempt to follow my friend’s advice once more in hopes to keep the thoughts flowing and the fingers working.

I find myself in a comtemplative mood today. Friday swooped down on my head and another week has passed as have many weeks passed in the last few years since I left New York. I still feel untethered and adrift despite the addition of many things and persons that would seem to anchor me to ground.

No place has yet really seemed or smelled of home and the wander lust inevitably sets in.

I wonder about my parents who are gearing up to leave after spending just shy of a year here in Tennessee. They pack up their belongings and head south and away to another life much like those fabled geese.

I think about the small routines we created here in Nashville. The stores whose names became familiar to our tongues. The streets we chose to walk. The churches visited. The bread we broke. The blood we spilled.

We are like plants or weeds or vines.

How strange and sad and sweet these tendrils we throw up seeking surface to cling to – these connections and memories and loves we cultivate in certain ground only to displace or be displaced…torn up – our hearts wander in a thousands little pathways – our minds destined to visit and revisit these small moments sometime in the future.

Will my mother stop and remember sweeping this Tennessee porch as she crosses her own courtyard in Colombia?
Will my blind father remember his walks to the lake, remember the geese gaggling about his feet while he sits in a doctor’s waiting room in Barranquilla?
Will I remember the cardinals sitting on the cedar tree some morning in the future far away from here?
Undoubtedly. Undoubtedly we will.

Until then I try to savor the moments as they occur and push the gaping maw of “things to do” at arm’s length.

FIN



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