I've been thinking a lot lately about journeys and endings.
On all levels. In all ways.
A school year with a great class is a wonderful journey and sad ending.
Working with the same 5 kids (for 6 weeks) trying to get them to understand and correctly calculate subtraction is a terrible journey but a happy ending.
The other day, I was inspired to make Tinga for dinner. I had all of the ingredients, so I got started. Half way through, I realized that I didn't have enough white or purple onions, so I mixed them. Well, they really don't mix. Whites are mild and transparent in cooking while purples are quite strong and overpowering. My meal was falling apart in front of me. Pissed off that it wasn't looking like the recipe, I left for the store to get all white onions. Upon returning, I basically started all over. I was gonna get this RIGHT. And I was STARVING. We sat down to eat at 6:30 p.m. (our usual time is 4:30 p.m.) and the meal was DELICIOUS! I sat there staring at my plate and thought to myself, "Boy, I sure hated the journey of getting this meal together but I sure loved the ending."
My dad lost a good friend over the week. And my good friend lost his dad. And it's been 5 years now without Greg. And 6 years now without Lula. Those endings are too sad. I think to myself, "Boy, I sure loved their journeys and hate the ending." The ending from our position, anyways. I know in my heart that they are in better places. But for us, those here, I just wish we had more time to see their journeys.