Touchstones

I'm visiting family this weekend, centered on my eightynine year old aunt Melita... the last of the elders of a large, tightly knit, ethnic family, now in assisted living... a place she calls her cushy prison. Today we had brunch at a nice ethnic restaurant and went sightseeing along old traunts. Also visited Delia, a cousin with Alzheimer's. Tomorrow, we have brunch at Caloli's (one cousin) and dinner at Carolina's (another cousin).

I am not used to the rapid and multiple conversations of my old cultural family group... sometimes they talk and listen to three conversations simultaneously... it's like having had a dozen cups of coffee, so even though I thoroughly enjoy them, I also enjoy the peace and quiet of my motel room afterwards.

Monday, I have all to myself, so I'm renting a bicycle to retrace some of my childhood rides... newspaper routes, school routes, and church routes, mostly... there was no family nor personal car 'till college, and I was and still am very hyperactive, independent and adventuresome, so I rode everywhere, in all weather.

What I am and do now is just an extension of what I was and did as a kid. There have been gradual evolutionary improvements, but no radical changes. From bringing home discarded TVs for parts to designing high-tech equipment, and from toys to the real things. I've avoided people all the way. I am what I am, and have always been. And aunt Melita is a touchstone I use to measure not only how far I've gone but if I've stayed on course. She'd tell me if I don't notice... and so would my many cousins.

My life's always been in forward motion, and will continue to be... quite the chicane.

- © 2008 by Willy
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