On Sunday morning. long before the sun had awoken, the Foeges (including Baby), Mr. White, and I piled into the car and headed south of I-80 toward Missouri (pronounced Miss-OR-e, not miz-ER-e). Karen had unexpectedly flown home from Ecuador for the week (there was a funeral to attend) and Sunday was an ideal opportunity to make the escapade in her direction.
Arriving at lunchtime, we were greeted with hugs and a table set for 12. A lunch of homemade bread, vegetables from the garden, and cobbler commensed. The afternoon gave time for tea and chatting and a long walk in the cold.
Despite the grief of the family, I felt so welcome. And so very content. So very content.
We left by 9am on Monday, returning to Chicago and all that was put on hold while we were gone. I told Karen that it was better we couldn’t stay longer, because there was a very good chance I wouldn’t have left. “There isn’t much to do in this town,” she told me. But we both agreed that’s where books take over.
Thanks to you all. It was a blessing to share such a difficult and happy time.