i like to think that my father was around the age of eight when he tied his cousin patsy to a tree, but maybe he was twelve.  or ten or seven or even fourteen, i don't actually know and there's nobody left to say for sure.  they were playing cowboys and indians or cops and robbers or some game that our kids don't play anymore, my father and his friend were, when they tied cousin patsy and aunt paula to a tree.  and left.  or so the story goes.

cousin patsy's mother died yesterday on her 92nd birthday.  i understand from another cousin that this - dying on your birthday - happens to 1 in 365 people, but i don't really know if that's true.  my father should have been the one to get the call, of course.  or my aunt paula - my father's sister, who was also tied to the tree - but they're not here anymore, and my grandmother is across the ocean and worlds away.  so the call came to me.

and i made the decision to go the funeral on thursday instead of going to alt new york with molly.

we have been planning this adventure for months, molly and i have, and i got the call while we were on the phone discussing final details.  i think i said, "i wish there was someone to tell me what to do."  i know i wished there was someone to tell me what to do.

i wish a lot of things.  about my father and my family and being in two places at one time and creatvitiy and blogging and habit and life.  i hung up the phone and closed my eyes for 30 seconds and i knew.

maybe it was the sage?