I am starting a new week.  The worst of all of the move is behind me.  I am going to slow down and think about writing again.  Writing is what I love.  Moving isn't.

I didn't sleep very well Friday night.  At 1:00 AM I gave up, got up, and wandered around.  I finally went back to bed, and eventually I went to sleep sometime later--and was awakened early by someone pounding on my door before the sun came up.  Steven.  He calls me from Dallas a couple of times a week--sometimes by 5, 5:30 because he knows I'm up by then.  He had come to Edmond to watch the OU game with his brother--who now lives in my old house--and when he woke up, nobody else was awake and he knew I would be.  Wrong.

But it was so good to see him, sleep was secondary at that point.  We talked about everything for an hour, and he promised to bring Madison--his new wife--over to visit later.  I adore Madison.  She is so smart, and interesting.  And down to earth.  We hit it off the first time I met her and it has gotten better and better as time goes on.  She is intense--like I am.  David's wife Jennifer, is also sweet, thoughtful and kind.  I love her as well.  It is wonderful to know these boys married good women.  Jennifer brings my mail to me every day, and shares my okra with me.  She calls it "Your okra," but I remind her that it is hers now. When I was moving, she must have carried 50 boxes across the street for me.

What a wonderful thing grandchildren are.  I certainly love all of mine.  These boys are 29, and 30 now,  and I still think of them as boys--which they aren't any more.  When Steven was 18 months old, Becky was 8 months pregnant with David.  She called and said, "Go get your passport, I have your ticket.  You have to come to Paris and hold Steven so I can fly back to America.  My stomach is so huge that I can't hold him and if I don't leave this week, the airline isn't going to let me fly.  Craig can't leave for another month, and I don't want to have this baby in Paris."  So I went to Paris for the first time.  I tried and failed to hold Steven when we came back on the plane.  He was a wild child.

It began a 25 year adventure going abroad with Becky, taking one of the boys, and playing while Becky worked.  The picture I dropped on my head last Friday was a photo of York Cathedral.  Stephen and I went there 3, maybe four times, hopping trains in England.  And this morning, he reminded me of us getting stuck on a concrete platform in a snow storm.  He remembered a number of things I had forgotten.   One was that the train that picked us up was just one car.  All I remember was, "What in the world was I going to do if a train didn't come, stop, and pick us up."