Retreat

It was so beautiful at Twin Lakes. Peacefully, blissfully, quiet. Our vacation together was supposed to have been for 10 days but life happens and we got exactly half that. Hubby got to finish out the trip here with his sister, brother and brother-in-law which was nice for him. He got some good fishing in and a lot of much needed rest after working a couple of 12 and 16 hour days on 5/7 and 6/7 weeks. We did not get to go out in the canoe which we had hoped to do on Monday. Instead, I was headed home on the Greyhound.

Its funny that we live in the woods, yet when we take a vacation we retreat further into the woods. Often, we have taken just sleeping bags and tents and gone as far in and away as one can go. There is something healing and refreshing about lying on the ground, gazing into a campfire or bobbing along in a stream. Crickets, frogs, various birds and the chirping of the chipmunks as they warn one and all that there's a blundering, big foot crashing through the underbrush.

I come home to a household in partial mourning for my mother's sister, partial chaos trying to pull together my middle daughter's wedding, and partially battling the flu -which everyone had neglected to tell me would be waiting to pounce the moment I was picked up from the Greyhound "station". Since when did they change the Greyhound Station from the convenient place of the Kelso trainstation to Longview's Holt's Market? My mom, dad and grandson are waiting at the train station to pick me up and I am waiting at Holt's Market to be picked up at 7:00 pm after riding the bus since 10:30 am. Fun city. How did we even handle that kind of crap before cell phones? Even with cells it's hectic enough.

After playing phone tag with my mother and then my father, FINALLY one of them answers their cell. Maybe my grandson showed them where the phone was. Why is it when you are in a small space with the dang thing you can't pin down where the ring is coming from? I have to frisk myself when my phone rings because I can't remember where I put it. The most convenient place for me to have it when my jacket pocket isn't available is, well yeah, its in my bra. However, it can be verrrrry embarassing for it to ring when it is there and you are talking to someone or, even worse, if you have forgotten you put it there and you are in the middle of an interview. Sigh.

So, I get back home to comfort my mother and, basically, take over the homefront so that she can be on the phone 24/7 to family all over the globe and I am assaulted with the flu bug. I thought that since I got home I would at least be able to do some articles for NCO, but nope. The most I have been able to do is post a couple of media releases before hacking up a lung and sneezing out a few more brain cells. I have two sweaters for two grandsons halfway knitted and have thrown myself five pity parties which have been attended by myself, my grandson and an assortment of his stuffed animals.

My head feels as if I have stuffed it full of cotton and my eyeballs feel like I have used the cotton to dry them off. Obviously I am not operating at my optimum and now is when my grandson choses to talk philosophy with me. "Who lives in those houses," he asks as we look at pictures hubby and I took when we were in Haifa. "Those aren't houses those are shrines," I tell him. "Does God live in that one?" he asks. "No," I tell him, "that's where 'Abdu'l-Baha is buried."

"What," he shouts, "He died? Does anybody know?" I start to laugh but see he is dead serious. "Yes, everyone knows, honey." He shakes his head, "I didn't know it. How come I talk to him if he's dead?" I tell him, "You can hear and understand more once your soul leaves your body so 'Abdu'l-Baha can hear everyone now that he doesn't have a body to restrict him." Thinking that by talking about things in a practical and adult like fashion he will grow bored and, basically, leave me alone so I can groan and sneeze. Instead, his eyes well up in tears, "My soul's going to leave my body and go away?" Not thinking I answer, "Well, yeah, everyone dies." And he let out such a howl I just about peed my pants!

"Wait, wait don't cry, baby, its going to be in a real long time!" I say, as I snatch him up and cuddle him. He's not having any of that. He pushes against my chest, "But I don't want to EVER die." Thinking desperately through layers and layers of cotton balls I finally find what I am looking for. "Remember the story about the caterpillar?" I ask him. "Uh-huh," he whimpers. "He ated until his tummy hurt and then he made a 'coon and turned into a butterfly." It is one of his favorite books and we had even got a caterpillar which he has named "Johnson" (I've no idea why) so we can watch the process.

"Do you remember what happens, though, to the part that looks like a caterpillar?" I ask him. He stops sniffling to think. "The butterfly just came out of it, it just was gone." This time I watch him closely to see how much more I can say or should say. "Was the caterpillar dead or did he just become something more?" I ask. "He's something more," grandson said with a smile. "Now, he can fly and he's prettier and he can see more." Okay, this is good, he's not crying any more. "That's sort of like our souls. First we are in this body and then when it is time for us to fly we won't need this body anymore and we will leave it behind." Tears start to fall again.

"I don't want my soul to leave me," my grandson says. A little three year old who has listened to the Narnia series and Pullman's His Dark Materials along with his prayers and listening to his Papa read the children's version of the Dawn Breakers. Too deep for my muddled head. "Honey, you are your soul. Your soul cannot leave you. You are like the butterfly. You use your body. You will always be you." He stops crying and hugs me. We rock back and forth for a while. I think he's going to go to sleep. My headache is finally subsiding. It is finally quiet. "'Bicka?" he whisppers, "little kids never die, do they?" I wonder what hubby is doing right at that moment and long to retreat into the woods. I answer my grandson.

Sister-in-law Janice w/hubby Jim, out on the lake