squawk.

yesterday we left the lake and i got to spend a few hours with one of my oldest and dearest friends.

what, if anything, is better than standing knee-deep in water next to each other, telling tales and sharing stories?  laughing with the same rhythm we had as sixteen-year olds? combined with the gratitude of making it this far together?

nothing, i tell ya.  nothing.

today we took a walk with my dad to a nature space in franklin; a plot of land set aside for people to enjoy just down the road from my parents' house.  we walked by the pond and saw osprey and mushrooms and turtles, and since we were with my father we found out that the osprey were teaching its young to hunt, the mushrooms were chicken fungi 

and proliferate after heavy rains, and the turtles were two different kinds: baby snappers (longer necks, bumpier backs) and baby painted (shiny backs and very colorful underneath).  all the while my children climbed trees, hid under branches and yelled loudly to each other, preserving the sanctity of the wilderness around us.

we walked by a family and met their dog, and then alex said, "take care," as we left.  we then heard the four-year old boy ask his father, "dad?  does everyone know those words?"  "which words, buddy?" "the "take care" words?"

yes,  we do.  we all know the words.  we don't always follow the instructions.

tomorrow my husband and son will accompany my dad to the golf course where his grandfather and father played, where my dad himself learned how to play with his brother along with him.  this golf course is in the central part of massachusetts, the blackstone valley, where the people from both sides of my family are from--where they put down roots that remain to this day.  the owner of the golf course knew my great-grandfather and remembers when my dad was called "jackie lash".  

my dad could not be happier with this outing.

is it like this for everyone, this submerging into nostalgia when one is back among one's people?  as much as i try to be here, be now, be in this moment, i cannot seem to escape the feelings that suck me into remembering how things used to be.

then again, i look at my father, who loves to describe the old days, and longs for times that were simpler and more happy.  so perhaps it is in my blood.

i know i've said this before in this blog.  this is nothing new to me.  or you.  if you read this.

this is the moment that i'd love to just write: blah blah blah.  what is the point of sharing, if i share the same thing over and over again?

the blue jays in the trees surrounding my parents' house are loud and full of themselves.  

they remind me of myself, sometimes.