I’m sitting in the guest room at Menno House. It’s all settling back in now, the dim hallway, the chipped stairs, the ancient woodwork. Even the row of refrigerators is still here, and the kitchen floor looks like it may not have been mopped since I left 13 years ago. I guess the residents have their priorities straight, right? They are off having adventures. The kitchen floor will just get dirty again. At least the guest bathroom has been remodeled so that it no longer has the washer and dryer in it. Joseph just said to me, “Did they put those cracks in the wall on purpose?” “No,” I said. “It’s just an old building.”
Mostly I’m still recovering from the flight. I have a fear of heights, and 35,000 feet is pretty high really, if you think about it. I tried not to think about it, like the little kids who were sitting across the aisle from me. They were not contemplating their mortality. Even Silas, who contemplates many things, doesn’t contemplate his mortality while flying. It’s just a problem I have.
Well, we are here. We’re alive. The plane didn’t crash. We’ll see what happens next!