Next stop, who knows?

I drove to Iowa to spend Easter with Andy’s family. It’s a long way. I left in the early evening after finishing my lessons, echoes of the missed notes, halting rhythms, harsh tone, and sweet young personalities occupying my mind while I crept through the North Dallas evening commuter traffic. Slow progress –my students, my life, and the traffic – is easier to bear knowing that impatience won’t speed things up, and that we will eventually arrive at our goal if we persist.

I persisted north on Highway 75 past fields overstuffed with spring growth, trying in vain to count the shades of green. So vibrant were the fields and so thin the cover of clouds that it seemed the evening was being lit by the new growth itself. It was impossible to hurry, or worry, or wonder if my life is speeding nowhere.

The Red River marked my progress into the great state of Oklahoma, where cattle stood planted in the grass, and Indian Paintbrushes danced orange above the green floor. Overhead, the clouds took on a washboard pattern, like waves in the sky and I wondered what kind of wind could make a cloud do that.

The fields slowly cooled until the great state of Oklahoma disappeared under darkness, and the only part of it I could see was the pavement beneath, and billboards floating by. Funeral homes, 24 hour dentures, and vasectomy reversals seemed to be common themes. I suppose all travelers have to deal with their worn out lives– bodies, teeth, marriages - as they persist.

I followed my headlights until my dashboard flashed yellow, advising me that I would not be able to persist very much farther without gas. A convenience store in Pryor put out the light.

Past Pryor came the snow - big white flakes streaking though the dark, like mini comets. Then, fog started to rise off the pavement; big thick banks like they make in the movies. Sometimes so much light can make it hard to see.

A new day brought new light, and as I traveled north, fields of green gave way to brown grass and flowering trees, and, further north, to dormant pre-spring. It was like traveling backwards in a “Season Time Machine.” It’s not that summer won’t arrive here, these fields just have to wait.

I stopped to visit my old schools and my friends in them. We talked about old days, new days, and days we hope to see. A good friend’s words have more impact then just words – “Persist” they said. I continued north feeling like the Indian paintbrushes dancing over the green floor in the great state of Oklahoma.

My trip odometer read 777.7 as I pulled into Darwin’s driveway to tape an interview about common friends. I took it as a sign. I had arranged the meeting at the last minute hoping this could shed light on a film project I have in mind. It did.

If you ever want to feel encouraged, energized, purposeful, go talk to Darwin, he will light you up.

And so I arrived at the home of my son in time to share of the kind of meal by which one celebrates (grilled steaks, goldfish crackers, ice cream) with the children of my child. When I finally closed my eyes on the bed which doubles as a Matchbox car roadway during the day, surrounded by crayons and very small teacups, I wondered what kind of miracle causes people to grow, even when you aren’t there.