beginning to put the pieces together again

Now Playing: A track from a Michael Flatley CD, "Lord of the Dance", kindly given to me by Anna, and (I believe) used to dance the two-hand reel by my ceilidh dancing friends.

Yesterday was fairly quiet in morning and afternoon. I spent the morning finishing my Scotland scrapbook, helping Laura unclog the bathroom sink, and doing chores. In the middle of the morning, my father called to tell my mother that Philip's flight from New Jersey had been cancelled. She immediately phoned the airline and went through a wringer of grouchy secretaries and automated systems to reach him.

During lunch, we watched some of "The Fellowship of the Ring". After lunch, I spent the afternoon collecting pictures for my Stillwater/Enid scrapbook and writing a couple of very long e-mails. Stephen had to go to basketball practice, but when my father left to pick Philip up from the Tulsa airport, Laura and I went along.

The car ride was long and quiet. My father requested that I bring the "Master and Commander" soundtrack, so we listened to it on the way. I read Busman's Honeymoon by Dorothy L. Sayers and stared out the window. I was shocked by how many groves of trees have already turned brown. A cottonwood tree stood like a plume on the edge of a hill, turned silvery-gold by sun, heat, and drought. It seemed as though the sun had played Midas with the countryside.

In Tulsa, we drove past the University. I stared down the turn I usually take to see if I could spot the apartments. We went to Braums and ordered food to go, then went to the airport.

(I can hardly sit still with this music playing!)

At the Tulsa airport, we sat in a corner of the baggage claim to eat our suppers: chocolate milkshake for all three of us, chicken strips for Laura and me, and chili for my father. Behind us, a young couple tried to entertain their exceedingly cute and energetic small daughter. The mother chased the girl as she toddled toward the escalators, and headed her off toward the revolving door. "Enough! Your turn!" the mother said finally, dumping the plump little girl into the man's lap.

After we ate, we walked up the long hall, lined with flags, to another waiting area, right outside the security checkpoint. We stood and waited for ten minutes or so. Philip's plane had been delayed three or four times, but finally people started to come down the long hallway from the terminal. I stood by a pillar and watched them: Businessmen grouchy and travelworn. A woman talking on a cellphone, but she had an earpiece so that it looked as though she was talking to thin air. A mother and three children hurried out to meet a dark Hispanic man. Man and wife held one another tight while the children piled around them. A lanky, ditzy girl in a short, flounced skirt ran down the hall to make a noisy reunion with her family.

One couple in particular interested me. The husband was lean, with stubble on his grey face. He carried a carseat. His teeth were brown, and he looked Eastern European. The wife was a bit rounder, with soft, white skin and waves of soft, black hair. She balanced a round, dark-haired child on her hip. They were met by a stout, elderly man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a floppy sun hat. The couple looked a little as though they might have been missionaries or emigrants, and when they spoke with the old man, their accent was a little odd.

Laura, my father, and I crowded as close to the barrier as we could. We waited and waited. The stream of people began to grow thin and slack off. Finally, at the end of the long hall, I spotted someone who definitely could have been Philip: lean, head almost touching the low ceiling, with that silly lick of hair sticking up over his forehead.

And it was Philip. Very tired and careworn, sauntering toward the gate. He dropped his satchel on the floor just outside the barrier and braced himself as Laura and I flung ourselves toward him. He shook hands with my father, and we walked out to pick up his bags: my mother's largest, heaviest duffel bag and a box full of books. Trust Philip to bring home books!

The ride home was quiet again. Laura talked brightly about the odd people she'd met in Enid, but after awhile, the conversation died away. I stared out the window, thinking hard about things that have been on my mind lately. Laura asked to turn on "Adventures in Odyssey", so my father let her choose a CD. The sun set westward over the low hills. We left Tulsa, lush river valley, bowls of the hills full of oak trees and blue mist, and came out onto the cross-timbers. I could hear the rasp of cicadas through the car windows as we whizzed past pastures rough with juniper trees.

Back at home, my mother flew out of the house to greet us. When we got upstairs, Stephen came out of his room with a little mischevous grin and a half-cocked eyebrow. We carried Philip's things to his room. Laura was being exceedingly silly. Philip asked if we could stay up talking, and I said we could. He offered to let Laura stay, too, but she was in no mood to be serious, so she went off to have a bath. Stephen was already in bed. I brought in my laptop to show Philip some pictures, as he requested. Before we started to do anything, we prayed. We stayed up late talking. Among other things, we talked about the Psalms: Christ's thoughts while He is on earth, moving from sombre to the triumphant praise of Psalm 150 as Christ returns to His Father. It's wonderful to read the Psalms not as detached poems but as chapters of a book.

For awhile, we looked at pictures. I showed him pictures from Stillwater and Enid mostly, since the Scotland CDs are out on loan to the Fisher/Spitler clan.

It was eleven-thirty by the time we went to bed, but I stayed up for awhile, furiously writing down a poem I'd thought of while I was getting ready for bed.

Today things are still quiet. Laura and Stephen want to wash the car this afternoon, so that will be fun. Philip has been rattling around in his room. He told me yesterday that he's only slept four hours out of the past forty-eight, so he probably tried to sleep in this morning. Unfortunately, Laura and Stephen have school to do, so they were up early, banging away on the computer in the schoolroom.

I hear that the TFYP group returned home safely. So some of the birds are beginning to fly home again for the winter. Praise God for watching over us at our going out and our coming in.