When I crossed the border into Nebraska last month, it seemed I was "skimming" the earth, not tied to it. I had multiple choices for places to stay, but none were home. Wonderful friends and extended family take me in like family. If I bought a house there, I might not see them as much as I do when I'm just visiting.
I miss the cemetery. My dad's people were from Sweden. My mother's waved at Columbus, or so Grandpa Williamson said. I wish I knew them, but then I remember their lives are braided with ours. My namesake Mae, was my Grandmother Mae Simmons Williamson. Her devotion to family blooms in me. The Ann is for my grandmother Anna Alm Benson. She traveled from NE to Denver, CO to be treated for TB. Grandfather Roy Williamson had a zany sense of humor. A meal wasn't complete unless he snatched somebody's bread or squeezed the cake in their hand. Great-grandfather Peter Benson worked his way to the Midwest building barns with wooden pegs. Great-Grandmother Nellie Williamson was the local Mid-Wife. Yes, I see a bit of each of them in me. And my parents loved to travel, like my sister and I do. The apples didn't fall far from the tree.
On the Memphis news this week, a retired couple sold everything and have been world travelers for two years. That brightened my day. When I travel, I could keep on going. Maybe I, or we, will someday.
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