going places

Duck shirt, hot pink starfish short shorts. Not because I bought them that way, but because she's grown.

Turquoise tennis, battered old ball cap. Not because her brown hair's a mess, though it is, but because it's from him, our music man.

I'm standing on my porch, snap shot saving these moments in my mind. Always. It's these pictures I'm filing away that I know will see me through my white haired rocking years.

Away she goes. Pedaling, moving farther and farther until she's gone. Today, it's towards the library. And as is so often the case, she wants to do it on her own.

As for the library, I love it. Stacks of bound, ivory colored pages. Streams of thought through the years pressed between parchment. A body can travel anywhere, meet anybody. For free. It's the poor girl's travel and entertainment guide. All you need's a water bill. Those books call for me. And I can spend hours flipping through magazines. Going places.

I guess my momma passed that onto me, and now E loves it, too.  A thousand and one trips flash through my mind. Watching E pedal towards our home town library is a new one I've added this year. And I'm savoring it.

We have a pretty great library here in Schertz. It's large and airy. The staff is real nice. Helpful, too. I can picture E clearly. Soon, she'll be walking through those double doors. Maybe reaching up to adjust the strap on her backpack. She'll smile at someone and look around, all lit up, savoring her independence.

When I go, I like to sit in a cozy chair by the tall, clear windows and read a little. Sometimes I rest my eyes and look out through those windows to watch the children play on the playground. I wait for E to come to me with questions. And treasures she's found.

Today, well, that won't happen, but if I'm lucky, she'll call me on her cell.