I am at school, Palm Beach Community College, in the library computer lab. It is a comforting place with the subdued murmerings of people, the soft "fleip floip" of sandels, and the quick pit-pattering of keys as people type. There is a feeling of contented productivity--no rush, no panic (three weeks until finals), and row upon row of focused faces. I like school. I like this school--especially for me right now. I am only auditing a math class--beginning the process toward a PhD in math. I never finished my English PhD and don't have the interest in starting that over again. There is nothing that I would want to spend a year reading or thinking about where English literature is concerned. If I could find a program that explored the relationship between writing and learning, I would love that--but at the moment, I am too wrapped up in Nathan and Brent and my garden to look too far abroad for that.

I have been so very caught up in the past--my past--these last two weeks. Re-hanging the pictures and artwork that Brent and I have collected over the past 25 years.

A tall, tan, grey-haired man just signed in to the lab. He reminds me of Brent--the way he walks, the unconcerned look on his face. I miss Brent during the day. Somehow just hearing his voice over the phone doesn't fill the ache that I feel when he is away from me.

I have found pictures that I'd forgotten. Brent's parents will be celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary this summer and I'd also been going through our family photo albums to find pictures for a PowerPoint that Mikie is making as a surprise. Pictures of mom, Brent, Martha, my two brothers, Susan--my three children as infants and in school. Pictures from Utah, Iowa, Texas, Argentina, Florida--other family members and family friends. I see a much older face in the mirror now (I have been focusing on what I look like to myself, and the world) and I understand why a bit better after reviewing all of this history. There are almost 50 years of living in my face--it is good that I look different after all of it.

Oysters, bunt cakes, limp bunnies, photos, family, missing Brent, summer suntans, don't cut your hair because then you won't be beautiful any more, confessions of a fabricaholic, corrugated plastic, clay pots, there will be none of that nonsense here, And we began to live after the manner of happiness. I am not always pleased with the skin on the face I have or how the dark circles under my eyes betray sleepless nights--but I am very pleased with the life that has gone on underneath the skin. I could have never have thought that I could be this happy.