there goes yesterday

Another move through time and space and although I never forget anything or leave anything behind, I keep losing me. I went to London by train on Wednesday. The bad part was finding the VIA departure space (NOT a lounge!). Union Station is still and always under construction and it's difficult to follow the arrows. I went down the same concrete, windowless corridor twice.  I didn't take a wheelie, thank goodness, just a marvellous blue (!) backpack given to me for my long cruise by a dear, young friend. The train ride was relaxing, though, and I read Lee Child's new book, Make Me, going and returning. (Quick review: it's a page turner, as usual, and I like jack Reacher, but this one is too violent and horrible. I may not return.)  Note: I was reading a book, not an electronic reader, so it's accurate to say "page turner" because I had pages to turn. 

My visit was delightful. My hostess goes a long way back, about 44 years, before my husband died. She was my challenged son's speech therapist, but more than that.  On our weekly visit from Stratford he learned more in an hour or two on Friday afternoon than he did in the entire previous week.  I have stayed in touch; I reminded her that I stick like Velcro.  She is a world-renowned speech pathologist now, much in demand, and gives workshops all over the world. I am privileged to know her. The purpose of our reunion was a trip to Stratford to see Dürrenmatt"s "The Physicists" (1962). It's a heavy message piece, relevant to today's messy world situation,  made palatable and enjoyable by Michael Healey's witty adaptation. 

i returned yesterday after conversation over a leisurely breakfast, and read some more  on the train. I finished the book on my balcony, and I checked my email and commitments. That's the hard part.  I found it difficult to return. I was still in limbo, trying to bring my mind and body into sync in order to focus on present needs and commitments.  Pick  up the pieces. They are too disparate to call them reins.  Focus, that's what I have to do, focus - on too many things. 

It's the opposite of letting go.  It's hanging on, not hanging in or out.  Well, here I am again, halfway between then and now, and it's time to swim. In the dark.