Under the Bridges

I'm home.

Somehow, getting Georgia under the bridges and tied up at the dock in Benicia changes everything.

Back to routine, for one thing.

It's Tuesday tomorrow, so I'll be in my group in Walnut Creek. Oh, but now there is so much that isn't routine:
How will I get to Walnut Creek? How long will it take me? Will there be time to fill after Ben and the
boat leave? How will I get home from Walnut Creek?

Back to responsible me, for another.

Mail, laundry, gym, keep in touch, groceries, dishes, driving. Oh, this is different too: Tuesday,
Wednesday good-byes to a group I've outgrown, Thursday my bellybutton day is special to me,
Friday! Last weekend on the old knee!

Future, plans, expectations. Mind whirling. Body anxious, already, and I am just 12 hours past those bridges.

Benicia is familiar like Petaluma. I've been "here" before. The tea shop, the grocery, the shower. I know
where stuff that I like is here. Many memories in each step. Dancing for hours because a friend's
son convinced the six of us it was too early to call it a night. Missing the dock, line in hand, on a hot day.
Stuck with two very young kids all the way on the farthest dock.

It's often a getaway, far enough from home. Not right now. It's home, just a few more hours of adventure.

And yet, everything has changed too. A large part of my heart is full of Howdy Stranger and Where Will That
Path Lead Us and Yes.

I like this feeling.