336 posts ago....

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When I opened up this template, it told me that this is my 337th post.

I can't believe it!

Printed out, it would be the equivalent of a book!

Yesterday, I took the day off from posting.. and didn't really miss it much. I puttered around, cleaning things that needed cleaning and pulling weeds from the garden. All afternoon, I lay around on the bed, reading, with an old movie playing in the background.

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Last night at an odd time, I got a surprise phone call.

The phone rang at 1.30 a.m, brought me out of a dead sleep and nearly scared me half to death. I'm not the sort of person to get middle-of-the-night calls. I'm not on anyone's emergency list and even when my father passed, I got an email asking me to call (subtext: at a decent hour).

I reached for the phone, figuring it was some drunk dialing a wrong number. It couldn't be Deborah's bill collectors, the previous owner of my phone number who seems to have a lot of outstanding debt. I get her calls a lot. Um. A lot. "Is this Deborah B*****?", "No." "Does she live there?", "Not unless she's hiding in the closet."

Clunk.

Friday night I had a planned phone call from a fellow blogger that was long and delightful and rambling. We covered a hundred topics in a nearly four-hour phone call. We tossed subjects out like pebbles on a lake, seeing where the ripples would lead next. They led from the lake, to the river, to the ocean. It was wonderful. I am not ordinarily at ease with people but found myself quite at ease with her.

Anyway, during that conversation, I must have conjured up the person who called last night in the weesmas.

Finally, I caught the phone before the voicemail kicked on.

"'Lo"

"S'wadee, dear."

I sat up straight in bed, wide awake.

It was my beloved Ajahn S.

"Aaaah. Oh. Ah. Hellll-LO! How are YOU?" I felt like crying!

"How you do? I thinking about you."

His accent is something I tend to forget. When he speaks English, he sounds like Ting Tong Macadangdang from the British TV comedy. He even uses outdated British slang.

"Fine. Um. Fine. Uh."

Funny how we get tongue-tied around people we not only admire, but people we have given a degree of authority in our lives. I couldn't imagine why he would be calling me. I hoped like you can't imagine that he has not found this blog... or started to read it regularly. He'd probably think I'm some sort of idiot!

"Do you know when you come back?"

Gave my projection. Probably next summer some time. Sooner, if possible. This latest wrinkle with my father might delay me a bit, especially if the will goes into probate.

"Being there not you so good for, eh?"

I talked for a few minutes with him, the kind of honesty that takes place with someone we trust completely. No, it's not easy.. but, yes, I'm coping. I want to come home. I miss you. I miss your family. I miss the friends I made there. I even miss R., my host, crash pad provider when I was there before.

I was struck by the power of those words. "I want to come home." Feeling in exile, stranded, unrooted. At this point, I explained, I've kind of accepted my fate for what it is and am not going to give in to complete rootlessness. I'll remain rooted to the periphery of life here.

And I've put to rest and found peace with the fact that no one here in my private life has any understanding of what that's about. I don't need them to understand. Not any more.

So, we talked on for twenty minutes or so and I went back to sleep feeling wanted, feeling loved, feeling a part of.

It's a peaceful kind of feeling. I don't think I had that word for it.. before.

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