Story VII: Running way too fast

I keep saying I am going to slow down and take things a bit more easy. But here it is the night before a 6AM flight to the west coast. It is Wednesday evening and I feel as though seven days of work have been collapsed into three. my story.

I grew up on Jordan Road in Oakland (for the most part). It was there that I remember playing in the street ... walking to and from school (which I thought was easily a mile ... but when I drove it a few years back was only .4 mile!) ... sitting down to dinner ... 

playing under the dining room table.  I remember my bedroom. I had one of those dressers with a round mirror, drawers on either side and a chair that fit under the center. The window of my room overlooked the garage. Life was pretty simple then: A black and white TV, a yellow and black station wagon, dinner when dad got home, and prayers before we ate. I rode the bus to Berkeley to go ice skating and made pot holders! 

On Tuesday nights we went to Le Petite with my grandparents because mom had gone back to school to get her teaching

 credential and that helped us out. Sunday dinners would sometimes be at my grandparents house ... Lawrence Welk was on. Some evenings we would drive way out to Lafayette for dinner with the Andersons. Coming home we would easily climb over the car seats from the way way back (yes, we called it the way way back) to the front.

Looking back ... thinking of those times ... a way to slow down.

Tomorrow I head out to "the mountain" ... what I call Holden Village when I talk about it with friends and colleagues. There I will slow down, walk the labyrinth, climb the avalanche, pray around the cross, and weave (not pot holders this time!). There will be quiet ...

To where do you retreat?