Writing is Memory

I sometimes think it was so long ago that my companion seat-belted me into the contraption, and we started out on the bicycle journey across the country. But it was only six moons ago. The beginning is at times cloudy, like the rainy days that started our journey. While other parts of it are in sweet sunshine, and the memory of it warms like the sun that streams in the window on the sofa I love to sleep and spend my days. The journey was not my idea, and one that I would have originally said no too. But having done it, having seen and smelled so much of America, I’m so glad we did it. I know the Companion feels really proud, and so do I: I’m proud of what we accomplished! But now its time to think back to those early days of journey.

It is time for us to write. To focus and to remember all the stories. The Companion, who prides himself on his memory, is having trouble. He's having trouble remembering so much.

It isn't that. It isn't that at all and he knows it. He knows that when he focuses his mind on remembering, he remembers well. But has he types, I can see changes in him, in his mood. It's not bad, its not even something I worry about. Well worry about too much.

He thinks of this work, as apart of our greatest accomplishment, as the final, the ending of the journey. And like when he diverted to go see Jenifer (150 miles out of the way) he diverts the work, so that he can continue to enjoy the journey.

Because, he felt most alive there alone with me and the bicycle. It was that purpose.

He is learning to find new purposes. Like pictured here: taking dictation. Type on!