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What Really Matters

 If you are afraid of becoming fifty years old,
this is a reason not to fear becoming fifty.

Mari and I--both married before, and both
having come to our now thirty-four year marriage
with children from our first marriages--
discovered one day that Marcia was living with us,
and had been doing so for a couple of years.

Well, we did know that and, in fact,
had proposed it would be a good idea,
but we had not realized that one day
Marcia would graduate from college
and leave us behind, tending house.

So we proposed to adopt her,
not because she did not have a family,
but because a spare relative or two
might be a good idea; something
like spare tires, I suppose.

Marcia drove precariously off to St. Paul
to a job and, one day, a marriage to Walter.
"Look at all that ice and snow!", Walter said,
remembering Atlanta.  "That is a lot of ice and snow!",
Marcia said, remembering Guyana,
so they moved to Atlanta, where still they are,
where the heat of Georgia and other urges
resulted in a daughter and a son:  Makaila and Dominick.

Then one day,
Marcia sent a note saying--
most improbably as it seemed to us--
that she was going to make a deal
of her first half-century,
and Mari and I said, "Oh, my god,
has it been that long?"

We went to Atlanta.

The celebration was splendid,
as it deserved to be.
There were well-wishers everywhere,
at a dinner/dance to be wished-for,
and I do not want to short the occasion itself,
but Mari and I did, after all, fly there on Frontier,
and that was, in itself, an occasion, too.

I sat into my seat across the aisle from Mari, and fumbled for comprehension.
The plane was new--an Airbus Something--but the seats were sculpted
in what seemed to be half-inch thick cardboard, and they did not lean back.
The folding tray, hinged as usual to the seat ahead of me, seemed to be
about six by twelve inches, but I may be exaggerating upward.
It was difficult to ascertain whether it was in the up or down position.
The woman in the seat next to me said, "You haven't flown Frontier before, have you?"

I hadn't, as I recalled, but I knew we had booked a roundtrip flight.

As it happened, going home,
I sat next to Xavier,
who was not at all convinced
he was going to survive air travel.
We reached an accommodation,
by mutual consent.

He was going to visit family, too,
and I hope he discovered as much pleasure
as we did; as many really good people,
and warm welcomes as we did.

In this election season
in which real changes in our world unfurl,
and uncomprehending responses are hurled,
our visit to Marcia and Walter
was a chance to affirm what matters;
what really matters.

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