Until now

Her's had become a life of precious discoveries. Her audiences: loved her Sonics, displacing the memory of basketballs and Slick Watts when posters of her performances were Twittered and shared on Facebook. Or, maybe it's because I am one of those aged Boomers who remember the basketball team that any cross-over would even exist. Linda M. and the extended family Molinas: grew both the girl and the bakeries a full decade, well nearly full. More than sandwiches and scones it was the music that led to Molinas' being a place of sounds that enraptured.

I watch as the beautiful InBetweener held to the Log, floating for awhile. I watch and wonder how she could have been pulled from the bow of that huge and powerful ferry. And disappeared. Until now. But then that is the nature of medicine being decanted, the whole process is done with knowledge and reverence for what the Medicine is. To go forward we must look back and step on that narrow path.

The sign still read Molinas', though it was now more accurately the Alvarez family who baked the breads, served the sandwiches and owned the business. A lot changed when Linda Molinas died suddenly, just as her father did. Shine was seventeen. What cryptic message had Spider left that summer afternoon as both women dangled from the hammock? "Chance," the Spider told the blond baker.  It was and is the most cryptic of all messages. There is, or there is no, chance. 

I watch my beautiful InBetweener daughter floating on the Log, and listen as Whales sing to her in her first language. I from my place that can, and do, access her to assure her of her path, can do so only when I too hear the Record Keeper's tales. So many mornings spent making food for others, yet there were those nine years where I remembered who I really am. There is always the chance I remembered soon enough. The tide shifts significantly, I ride the wave of change from my place. "Float for awhile my muli. Float for awhile," I sing.