From the truck stop we'd picked up a passenger who'd crammed his tall self into the backseat with us.  We started to head back.  My Dad was not talking as much as he was thinking on things.  While it seemed like a lot was going on all around us--Mom not getting run over, Mom having had a good visit with her family, the kids safe in his car with him, and God, our God, going to trump the circus--all of which Mom got out of him as if he was Eeyore reluctant to cross a bridge over a flooded stream--there was sanctuary in family.  Sherry smelled Grandma Pearl's Hymnbook and smiled and teared up at the same time.  Smells like Grandma.  She passed it around for everyone to smell.  The passenger reeked of alcohol so we just passed it around him.

  Then Mom and Dad reiterated what was really good about their life together so far.  Holding hands on top of the hymnal.  Mom tapping Dad's hand--I love you, Dad squirming his thumb free to press on hers--fight?!  You wanna fight?!  Letting Mom press her thumb over his--the winner!  "Only 'cuz I let you."  They were really grounding each other midstream in ongoing conversations on hold in the moment.

  Dad was caving on moving.  Mom was holding back on big news.  It seemed like everytime she was going to announce it, there was more political stuff to deal with, or it was time to eat, or they were being asked advice--always being asked for their opinion.

  As we got back to the dark with pollution skies of New York, I was thinking how much freer I felt in the country.  But the farm on Mom's side of the family was really gone from us.  Mom and Dad had worked through tears and laughter about being more of an island unto themselves than ever.