Visiting my parents in Vermont for two weeks
It's hard to describe the complete change of pace that occurs whenever my family and I fly 2000 miles across country and drive from Boston up to Vermont to visit with my parents twice a year. I always think it will be easy to maintain contact with others (it isn't) or that I will continue to find time and access to a computer regularly (hardly) and that all the beauty and history and feelings from being where I grew up will naturally evoke material for writing that will be effortless. But, alas, here's what happens: I am overwhelmed to find how time has changed my parents. I am worried about how they live all on their own without any other children, other than myself, to care for them. I sit and think about what I can do and then the battle about "don't change things for us" starts and I begin to shut down. Sadly, that's what happens. I try not to faint when I see all the appliances plugged into an outlet crowded like a bad yard sale just over the leaky