A few hours ago Strider calls. I go answer and ask if she's still at work. She's been working long hours. She says, "Hell no." "Good," I say. She says, "Is your back door open? Do you have clothes on?" And she laughs. Yes, she's parked out back. I can't count the number of times I did that to my mother. Except there weren't cell phones then, and maybe I'd stop along the way and call, but mostly not. Another difference, I'd usually have laundry to do. And be hungry. Strider is much more self-sufficient, and older than I was when I did that, too.
So Strider, Ems the Wonderdog and her nicely tattooed guy friend hung out for a couple hours here. They're on the way to a music festival in Massachusetts (I'd forgotten all about it). No, not staying here, they're staying down there at a friend's farm. It was well-timed, as I got to give her the things I was meaning to mail and keep forgetting, and she took a look at the Greg portrait and I immediately saw what was wrong. Now I can fix and finish it. I love that. She brought me presents too! Good ones! Now I'll move ahead in turning the storage room door into the Tardis. We told the old stories, laughed like the loonies we are, caught up on some gossip. I got to mush up Ems a little. He was tired from the long hot trip in the car. But he looks great.
And then they had to go.
She's only been gone an hour and I miss her already. When she walks out the door, my heart and hopes follow her. She's the best daughter I could've ever found.
1 day ago