I remember once when Joy and I met Hope Harris from New York City, and we all became friends.
On a road trip, I visited Hope--when she decided that Texas wasn't for her and moved back to Long Island.
Two things struck me as a difference between Hope and her friends and me and my Texas friends:
1. They met for cocktails in the afternoon. I didn't (still don't) know one cocktail from another.
2. They were always describing their lives as "crazy"--meaning fast-moving and busy to the max.
(In the years since, I have sometimes described my life that way, I'm sorry to report.)
How often do I rush around, checking things off a master list? How often do I measure the goodness of a day by how much I accomplish? How often do I neglect to do something that matters because I "have to do" the things on my morning list?
I want to remember to meander at home, just as I meander on the road: to take the time to stop moving crazily from one thing to another and just sit down on the porch and have a metaphorical cocktail.
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