Retracing

    'Hi honey," I remember Brian cooing.  "I have good news and bad news," he began. Which do you want first?"  I held the phone in my hand as I sat on the bed. I thought quickly. "The bad news."  " I broke your grandmother's glass butter dish," he confessed.  I winced.  "The good news?' I asked hopefully.  "Nancy called.  She got your number from your mother's friend, Mary Jo Clayton.  She wants to talk to you."

   I had escaped this weekend.  It was my first weekend away, and Mr Mom was flying solo with my first born. Brian was alone with strong willed Emma. Emma who gave one the illusion they were in control.  I traced the patterns in the comforter with my index finger as I pondered the news.  A broken family butter dish did not thrill me, but Brian had done well to barter it with Nancy's call.

    My year long search to find a close friend who knew my mother had finally proved fruitful.  After months of pouring over old letters, searching the internet, sending out unanswered correspondence, and contacting college alumni groups I let myself wonder if I could possibly have finally hit paydirt.

    You know what? After 20 plus years, and countless hours whiled away at Nancy's kitchen table chatting into the wee hours- I have never once given that butter dish a second thought.