Starting home for Dillard is never going to simple, even if she is simply walking from her car to her front door. Ten feet. Dillard will always encounter something complicated. Or something that reminds her of something complicated. That's because Dillard loves complexity.
Today was the end of complexity for me. I finished all of my grading. I went to the Public Radio station and recorded my Christmas essay (didn't make a single mistake). And I attended my daughter's Christmas concert. In about a half hour, I will head down to my Intro to Film classroom for the final time. Some of my students will be coming, and we will watch one of my favorite Christmas movies--Joyeux Noel. A simple, easy night.
At the Christmas concert this afternoon, I could barely see my daughter. Something was wrong with the lights on the stage, and the entire top row of singers (including my daughter) was on the dark side of the moon. Couldn't see if my daughter was smiling, frowning, or throwing up. Nothing. But the music was enjoyable. I just sat in my seat and sort of blissed out. It was lovely.
Before the concert started, a woman behind told me a story. We call her Grandma Bonnie because she used to volunteer at my son's preschool. My son absolutely loved her. Grandma Bonnie used to work with my sister who died a year ago. "I wanted to tell you about a dream I had last night," Grandma Bonnie said.
It seems that she dreamed she was at the hospital where she used to work with my sister. "The whole inpatient surgical floor was really busy," Grandma Bonnie said, "and I was looking for a wheelchair. I walked down to the end of the hallway, and there was you sister. Just standing there with a wheelchair. I asked her if I could use the chair. She said sure and smiled at me." Grandma Bonnie sat in her seat for a second, then she said, "She looked so beautiful."
I couldn't speak. I just nodded.
Grandma Bonnie put her hand on my shoulder and said, "She looked so beautiful."
Saint Marty has been blessed today.
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