Jetlag

Dear Readers

I’m sorry I haven’t written

I’ve been thinking about you and trying to find the right words to share but so much is happening in the world, in my world, that it feels like there’s no good place to start

“Be where your feet are,” a friend once said

Wonderful advice for free-range feet roaming

country to country

state to state

inn to inn

home to home - but not mine - always someone’s else’s

Which is lovely and kind

But a constant reminder of what is not mine

So, I wonder, is it time?

To have a home

A tiny place that is mine and no one else’s

Where I can rest among my things

Ah yes, things. What things?

Four boxes of things in a friend’s attic

Two drawers of clothing at my parents’ homes

A few tops and some sneakers at H’s

What will I do? Go from place to place, collecting things, and piece together a new life from old things?

Funny how things can be things we hold in our hands and things we hold in hearts

Funny how we can want more things and also elate in letting things go

So, I sit here in someone else’s home, being where my feet are Suspended in a kind of jetlagged time warp

Some cells in Scottish Castles Tiny stone chapels Sheep covered hillsides

Some cells in California

Some cells lighting up the miles in between

And for now, I rest

And stop thinking about things

And focus on being where my feet are

When my brain unscrambles

And my cells choose their final destination

I’ll be back with stories

And stories

And stories

Of all the moments in between

Stained glass window at St Margaret's Chapel at Edinburgh Castle. The chapel was constructed in the 12th century and is the oldest building in Edinburgh. When I walked in, I could feel warm loving energy (unlike some other rooms in the castle - more on that later).