Learning from the Past

      Well, I thought I had ended. Seems not.
Soon, though, I’ll embark on my next voyage. Now the women--from Margaret Lynn Lewis, to Jane Strother Lewis, to Elizabeth Lewis Gilmer, to Sophie Gilmer Bibb, to Martha Dandridge Bibb, to Susanna Dunlap Porter Bibb, to Mattie Gilmer Bibb Edmondson, to Deane Jones Edmondson, to me—we all go our separate ways, but we don’t really separate at all. I could be trapped in this intense montage if some degree of exfoliation didn’t occur as a natural process. If I refused to learn from the amazing parade of unleashed spirits how to live better in the present, or how to better appreciate the past, I could be encased in lifeless cells. I opt for renewal.

       Before I do leave, I’ll retire “the box”. Maybe find a new home for all it has held sacred. This should be a wonderful period of relaxation. For now, I’ll pause, feel the inevitable let-down, and simultaneously, milk the satisfaction over completing this meandering journey. Then, I’ll remember how great it was to get us all together to have this heart to heart. After circling and searching for the routes that mattered, for me, for this moment, and for my family, it’s sweet to be home, Alabama. It’s also great to know the Southern Bypass awaits if I choose a rapid exit. Or re-entry.