They say a change is as good as a rest, and maybe it is, but a change is not equivalent to a rest. They're two very different things, and we've been long on the one and short on the other.
Darwin is off to another state for a job interview. The changes are already starting: the realtor from church is coming on Sunday to assess the place; the garage is getting cleaned out; the cell phone bill is swollen with the contact demands of not one, but three long-distance job prospects. The view alters day-to-day as we consider and reconsider real estate affordability, dream job vs. proximity to family, the latest interview call, and the dead prospect that suddenly springs back to life. The days are busy and exciting. The evenings are filled with abortive attempts to debrief each other over the roar of hungry and sleepy children.
Tonight we got in the wrong lane driving away from the airport and ended up on a farm-to-market road which ran mostly parallel to the efficient toll road. At first I sought to turn around as soon as we could, but the road stretched on through Texas countryside like the straight and narrow path, unsullied by crossroads or driveways. I didn't know where I was, exactly, but I knew where I'd probably end up. On we drove, gradually soothed and then seduced by the beauty of the hill country and intricacy of the light playing through the creeping storm clouds. Soak up the scenery now, girls, I urged; the days are growing short.
Yes, very soothing, and then the clouds opened and a downpour of diluvial ferocity attacked us as we sat in construction traffic. Change: not restful.
Death on a Sunday afternoon.
2 hours ago