Mississippi. One must love what is his.

Sometimes when I am returning to Mississippi, I recall the words of James Meredith, about loving Mississippi because it is his.  Mississippi has not always been kind to me in the last 12 years (although I am in no way comparing my experiences with those of James Meredith), and yet after a time away I find myself longing to be back to the place I currently think of as home.  Perhaps that is because home is not necessarily a geographic location.  And yet, I feel a sense of "homeness" when I cross the bridge into Mississippi and it feels as if I am almost here on my little Taylor cottage on the hillside.

The past 16 days have been a whirlwind from daylight to well after dark, what with taking care of Mom in the hospital and after she got home--along with all the usual caregiving that occurs when I am at home.  It is always a joy to be there with my sister, though, and to take a few times out of each day to share the tasks needing doing, and sometimes, to share some relaxation and down time in the midst of the tasks--like the day we drove to Mineral Wells to buy her new trailer and slipped on over the 20 miles to Weatherford for lunch and a quick shopping trip.

It was a joy to have my bro stop by and surprise Mom and Dad, and lift their spirits.  It has been the whine valley and the mountaintop at various points in the past days, but as things always do, it passes and moves on to the next phase.  Things were fairly stable when I left Thursday afternoon, and we made an overnight stop in Arlington and came the rest of the way Friday.  It was a long day of driving at that, and in pouring rain from the Mississippi River to home.

This morning, it is cool and overcast, and I set about refilling all the bird feeders and wondering how long it will take them to figure out Suz is home and the seed bins are full.  The magnolia is blooming, the grass is green and wet with the recent rainfall, little drops glistening like rhinestones.

 

 Mississippi.  One must love what is hers.