After my morning court appearance, I head east to St. Louis.  I’ll check into a small north county hotel and throw my overnight bag onto a chair.  At five o’clock, I’ll present myself at a restaurant in St. Ann, where at least two or three of my siblings will be dining.

I’m going home.

I find it odd to think of the eastern edge of Missouri as home.  I have not lived there in 33 years.  In the between-time, I’ve gotten a doctoral degree; married and divorced three times; moved to another state; and returned to KC with a baby and a fear of failure.  I’ve wallowed in lust; fallen in love; and had my heart broken by one whose eyes held the glare of disgust where I had once seen eternal devotion.  I’ve given interviews, written blogs, climbed mountains, and stood on the edge of the world with my heart in my throat.

Those who share my DNA have fared somewhat better.  One sister has a twenty-year marriage to a man who thinks she walks on water.  A brother shares seven children with his college sweetheart in a three-story house which they rehabbed themselves.  Up north in Minnesota, my oldest sister has just celebrated her 37th wedding anniversary.  She learned to white-water canoe in her 50’s and spends six weeks in Guatemala each year on a medical mission, at the close of which she also works with women of the village in a cottage industry where they spin, weave, and make clothing from their own fabric. I could continue; I have six surviving siblings and they all have lives which I admire.  They have all accomplished much — degrees, children, marriages, homes, professions, and — as far as I am able to determine — happiness.

I look in the mirror and feel a bit grim.  I’ve gained some weight.  Over the winter I fell into a decline and did not exercise much.  I found myself unable to shop and cook, so rapid dining and processed frozen foods sustained me.  But I’m not complaining.  I have made it through to spring.  I  feel hopeful.  The tears hover behind the blue of my eyes but I also find myself considering the future.

It isn’t what I wanted.  But in the immortal words of Lucille Corley, “Where there is life, there is room for improvement.”  Or did I say that?  No matter.  It’s true.

It’s the sixth day of the twenty-ninth month of My Year Without Complaining.  I’m headed “home”.  Life continues.