"The most precious gift that marriage gave me was the constant impact of something very close and intimate, yet all the time unmistakably other."~C.S. Lewis

I must have walked four miles in the rain. I hadn't been out in a while--battling an infection and just trying to hold my own at work. My life felt as if the margins were much too thin--hardly room to jot a few notes on the sides of the page.  The soaking rain pelted my skin and was like God Himself refreshing me with His Spirit.  With each step, I seemed to get a little more clarity, a little more breathing room, my margins increasing.

I woke up with a feeling of heaviness. Somewhere in a shadowy place I might have dreamed of elephants.  Was this the heaviness?  Random images barreled through my thoughts like a runaway freight train.  I remembered my friend from sixth grade--sitting in the limbs of the tree in her backyard; I dreaded that I had a lot to do.  I looked at the book on my bedside table.  I read a few chapters before I went to bed, but for the life of me I couldn't remember what I'd read.  I had guests.  I needed to get up.  I felt tired.  Before I placed my feet on the hardwood floor, I was decimated with too many thoughts.  And most of them were negative.

The call came early Monday morning.  My colleague had suffered a stroke, so stated his wife.  And then another problem--a heart problem--surgery needed.  "But he's too weak after the stroke to undergo surgery, so we'll have to wait for several weeks."  I felt devastated.  Carl and I have worked together for over 15 years.  He is the "Frick" to my "Frack" (of NPR's "Car Talk").  He can tell what kind of day I'm having by the sound of my clicking pumps in the hallway.  I know what all his nonverbals mean.  We are like brother and sister.  I was freefalling without him.

We sat across the table from one another.  I brought a gala apple to share on the day of my sixtieth birthday.  I was happy to be with my three-year-old granddaughter.  Her parents were out to celebrate their wedding anniversary and took Lilly's baby brother, Jonathan.  He would need to nurse frequently, so it was just us.  We felt the closeness of our compainionship, and Lilly said it best in her articulate fashion: "Minou (my grandmotherly title), we get to be alone together."

"Live in the sunshine.  Swim the sea.  Drink the wild air."~Ralph Waldo Emerson

The night before the trip I got a call from the airline.  The generic female voice said in a robotic tone, "We're sorry for the inconvenience, but your flight has been cancelled.  We have scheduled you for the next day."

I'd made travel plans months ago--a reunion with my three sisters. I felt disappointed to lose twenty-four hours with them.  The trip was only four days long anyway.  The airline gave no explanation.  Just cancelled.  I waited for an hour to talk to a service representative.  There were no other flights out.  I began to form a coil inside my chest and felt the clinch of anxiety.  I didn't like having my plans collapse. 

Yet I had an unplanned day before me.  I didn't have to go into the office.  I was already packed.  That coiled place around my heart began to unfurl, and I made a decision to head for the beach.