(For all my legions of readers waiting breathlessly for each new post, I apologize for being away. My only defense is sheer laziness and a dull life.)
I may have written about this before, but it’s a thought that’s occurred to me more than once – how cyclical life can be.
Probably because life (actually dysfunctional parents) sent me to live in a variety of places and circumstances growing up, I’m always amazed when worlds collide, bringing me back to somewhere I’ve been before.
I met My Guy at college in New Jersey – he from Massachusetts, me from Virginia. In the summer after my Junior year, I traveled to MA to visit him. He picked me up at the airport in Connecticut (much closer than the Boston one) and once off the highway, we were in Springfield, MA, zipping down Sumner Avenue, where this girl from the suburbs saw her first big frame two-family homes.
Four years later we were married and often took evening walks with the kids to the end of our street, which ended at that same Sumner Avenue.
Then there’s Princeton, New Jersey.
Where I was born while my father was in graduate school.
Where 19 years later I would take a bus from my college down the road to meet my then-boyfriend, a freshman (and hockey player from Saskatchewan) at Princeton.
Where 30 years later I would stand on the sidelines at a soccer game cheering on my grandson.